


i'll make this feel like home

by suspendrs



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Friends to Lovers, High School, Kinda, M/M, Prom, Slow Burn, bc would it be a suspendrs fic if there wasn't angst, god will i ever get better at tagging things, there's some brief Harry/Caroline but i refuse to tag that as an actual relationship so just beware
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-28 05:18:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 41,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11411025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suspendrs/pseuds/suspendrs
Summary: It’s nerdy, much nerdier than anything Harry would have engaged in back home. Perrie and Ed are singing some song from West Side Story and Stan is just giggling along, and it’s almost weird how weird Harry doesn’t find it. Liam and Niall would be running as fast as they could from this interaction, but somehow, Harry finds himself giggling along as well.Maybe it’s because no one in this group seems like they should belong in this group, but Harry feels like he fits right in. He feels more himself than he has in weeks when Louis plops down beside him for a couple moments and throws out another title to add to their movie marathon. Even though he can’t contribute to the conversation about musicals and he has no idea whether The King and I or Oklahoma is more important, he never feels like an outsider.Or, Harry is new to Plymouth and has had a rough start, but Louis won't rest until he makes it start to feel like home.





	i'll make this feel like home

**Author's Note:**

> well would you look at that another fic titled with a lyric from home. almost like i'm a fuckin larrie or something.
> 
> so i have no idea what this is but it was originally inspired by the diner that my aunt worked in when i was growing up and i spent so much time there like the majority of my childhood memories are from that place and i was feeling sentimental and this happened. i don't actually live in plymouth and have never attended the plymouth school system so all this south vs north business is purely fictional, and i have no idea what the schools are really like. i think those are all my disclaimers yay idk enjoy the fic

It’s only been a week, but already the house smells like hairspray immediately inside the front door. Everyone’s house has a signature familiar smell; Niall’s house used to smell like moth balls and chicken dinners, and Liam’s always smelled like laundry detergent and fresh coffee. Maybe this new house will be the hairspray house. Maybe one day Harry will become so accustomed to this house that he doesn’t even register the smell when he walks in, but every time someone who knows him smells hairspray, they’ll be fine tuned to think of him.

Or maybe Harry will never get used to this house. It’s small, a lot smaller than the one they had in England. It’s a split level, or something, which means half of the house is basement and the other half is a story up. It’s a stupid layout, in Harry’s opinion. Everything’s stupid, in Harry’s opinion.

His mum moved her hair salon to the basement bit of the house which is, of course, the source of the hairspray odor. The upstairs is just the kitchen, living room, two bedrooms and a bathroom. His parents claimed the bigger bedroom at the back of the house, of course, which leaves Harry in the probably-office at the front of the house, with one little window and a tiny closet. 

They moved for his dad’s work. Harry’s fourteen years old and still doesn’t fully understand what it is his dad does, but he knows it’s something with computers. What Harry _really_ doesn’t understand is why, if he works on a computer all day, they had to move all the way to America from England for him to do his job.

Plymouth, Massachusetts isn’t the worst place he could be, at least not yet. It’s nothing like home; this town is massive, unlike the tiny village where he grew up. It’s so big, in fact, that they have to split the town into two different high schools just so that everyone can go. Harry will be attending Plymouth South starting tomorrow, the first day of his freshman year. So far it seems like a lot of those American high school stereotypes he’s always seen on TV are actually coming true, and he’s absolutely dreading it. 

His mum assures him he’ll be fine, but he can’t agree just yet. He has no idea what his classmates will be like or if they’ll accept him with how different from them he is, and he can’t help but wonder what will happen if he ends up sticking out like a sore thumb for the entirety of high school. He wants to go home, where he and his two best friends were able to fly completely under the radar, neither liked nor disliked by their classmates, just happy and living their lives.

He pushes his last pea around his plate, chin propped up on his hand. He’s always liked peas, but tonight he’s finding it hard to consume anything when his body is so busy being consumed by dread. His parents are chattering on about something and Harry can’t help but let their accents grate on his nerves, terrified of how his matching accent will be perceived at school.

“Harry, honey,” his mum says, earning a glance from under Harry’s curly fringe. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“Hungry for death,” Harry mutters, flicking the pea a little too hard and sending it bouncing over the edge of the table. It scares the hell out of poor Dusty, who darts out of the room like the pea is a grenade. 

His father tuts quietly, but nobody dares scold him. They know well how anxious Harry is, and they know he must resent them for doing this to him. Harry loves his parents, really; he’s an only child, and while he should be quite spoiled, they’ve raised him rather well. He just wishes they could finish raising him at home.

“Don’t say that,” Anne says quietly. “Everything is going to be fine, love, I promise.”

Harry scoffs a little and nods, pushing back from the table. “May I be excused? I feel a bit sick.”

Anne watches him sadly as he gets up and shuffles out of the kitchen, heading straight for his stupid bedroom. The vents in the floor are blowing out air that smells like hairspray and he kicks at the switch to shut them, falling face first onto the bed. 

Maybe it’s not hairspray, he thinks to himself. It could be shampoo, or some kind of styling product. Either way it makes him feel ill, makes him want to open the window, maybe jump out of it. He sighs as he rolls over, reaching up and pushing the window open. He stares up at the moon, knowing that the same one is shining down on England, illuminating the front rooms of his old home. He loved that house, loved how the moonlight shone through his bedroom window, how he could sit on his window seat and see every star in the sky. There’s a lot of trees in Plymouth, Harry thinks. All he can see here are leaves. Maybe come fall they’ll all dry up and wither away, and maybe then Harry will be able to see the stars.

It’s too early to go to bed, but Harry can’t be bothered to stay awake right now. He doesn’t bother brushing his teeth, kicks off his clothes and crawls under the covers. He manages to fall asleep somehow, even though he’s terrified for what the morning will bring.

-

It turns out that high school is every bit as terrifying as Harry expected. From the second his name was called for attendance in homeroom and he answered with an accent, people have been staring at him. No one seems terribly eager to talk to him, too busy gawking, whispering to their friends. The girls give him a wide berth, but their eyes stay locked on him, like he’s some kind of mystical creature. The boys, however, keep stepping on the backs of his shoes and sneering in his face as he walks down the hallway, trying desperately to find the classrooms listed on his schedule. Overall, it’s a terrible first day.

He’s just barely made it to last period, anxious and ready to go the fuck home and hopefully stay there forever. He finds a nice spot in the back corner of the classroom, next to the windows, and the seats around him fill slowly.

Someone sits down beside him but he doesn’t look up to see who, too busy keeping his head down and counting the seconds until the bell rings and class starts. The person keeps clearing their throat to get his attention, but Harry doesn’t look up until they touch his arm gently.

“Hi,” the girl says, giving him a pink, glossy smile. “You’re new right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Harry says, voice low.

“Is it true that you’re British? My friend is in your English class, and told me you have a really cool accent,” she grins.

“I am, yeah,” Harry blushes. “And um, uh, thank you.”

“My name’s Lauren,” the girl says. “Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Harry,” Harry mutters back, awkwardly shaking the hand that Lauren extends. 

“Harry? Like the prince!” Lauren squeals. “How regal!”

Harry gives her a tight smile and turns away, glancing back at the clock. Just one more minute until the bell rings, and then he’ll be free from having to talk until class ends, and he can run all the way home.

“Here,” Lauren says, sliding her phone across the desk they’re sharing. “You can give me your number, if you want. We can hang out sometime,” she offers. 

Harry stares at the phone for a second and then at Lauren, weighing his options. She’s cute, but Harry’s far too anxious to date anyone right now. On the other hand, though, he supposes it might help his social standing.

He picks up the phone and taps in his number, saving the contact and pushing the phone back to Lauren. She grins again and pockets the phone, and then finally the blessed bell rings and they don’t speak again until class is over.

“I’ll text you soon, okay?” Lauren says, as Harry shoves all of his belongings into his bag. Harry gives her another small smile and bolts, keeping his head down as he flees from the school. 

No one approaches him as he waits on the curb for his mum, thankfully, and he falls into the car before she’s even come to a complete stop.

“Hi,” Anne says, frowning at him. “Alright?”

“Get me out of here,” Harry mutters, sinking down in his seat as Anne starts pulling forward through the crowd of kids rushing to their cars and busses.

“Bad day?” Anne pouts, glancing over at him.

“Bad day, bad school, bad people, bad town,” Harry says. “I want to go home.”

“We’re going home,” Anne says.

“ _Home_ , home,” Harry spits. “Not that ugly house.”

“Harry,” Anne sighs. “Love, I’m sorry, but you know we can’t do that. We all just have to find a way to make this place our home,” she says.

Harry could scream and cry and throw a tantrum, and he wants to, but he doesn’t. He knows it won’t get him anywhere. Instead he just sniffles a little and sinks down further in his seat, staring out the window.

Anne reaches over to squeeze his arm gently but they don’t speak again until they get home. “There are some snacks in the fridge,” Anne says. “You wouldn’t believe how different the grocery stores are here.”

“Oh, I believe it,” Harry mutters, stomping straight to his room and letting the door slam behind him. He hopes his mum feels terrible. He hates it here. He wants to go home. He wants his own bed in his own house and he wants his old school and he wants Liam and Niall. He doesn’t want to get a text from Lauren and he doesn’t want to get all his syllabi signed and he doesn’t want to go back to school. Everything sucks, and he fully intends to keep pouting and stomping about it until he gets what he wants.

-

The next day sucks even worse, somehow. The girls seem to have gotten over ogling him from a distance and now won’t leave him alone, rushing to sit beside him in class and trying to get his number. He gives it to all of them, mostly because he doesn’t know how to say no, and ignores the barrage of texts he gets throughout the day. The boys, on the other hand, get even meaner. Someone closes his fingers in his own locker after third period and Harry has a little cry in the bathroom, but silently as to not attract any more negative attention. It seems that as the girls start closing in the boys are getting more and more territorial, and Harry doesn’t want any of it.

He manages to make it through the first week, but it’s difficult. He’s gotten better about moving out of the way when someone slams his locker shut, and he’s also learned a few tricks to avoid giving girls his number. He’s one week into high school and he’s already counting the days until he graduates, and he can go to university back in England and hopefully never enter this horrible country ever again.

It’s last period on Friday, and Harry’s managed to get through the last two periods unscathed. If he can get through this period, he can go home for the whole weekend and hopefully recharge enough to do it all again next week. Lauren skips in and takes her usual seat beside him, leaning close.

“Hi,” she hums, her breath warm on his cheek. She’s chewing gum, Harry can smell the mint.

“Hi,” he says, scooting his chair away a little.

“How’s your day been?” Lauren asks, leaning away but still somehow invading his personal space.

“Pretty shit, and yours?” Harry says.

“Yeah, welcome to high school,” Lauren shrugs. “You’ll get used to it.”

Harry scoffs, digging his notebook out of his backpack and doodling a little. It’s an evasion tactic; if he looks busy, Lauren will be less likely to talk to him.

It lasts about halfway through class, when the teacher starts lecturing about the Revolutionary War and Lauren leans close again.

“History is so boring,” she whispers. She’s terrible at whispering, loud and not subtle at all. Harry thinks he should tell her.

He just nods instead, glancing over at her.

“I prefer to live in the moment,” she says, resting her hand on his thigh. Harry blinks, looking down at it and then back up to Lauren’s face. She smirks at him and moves her hand up to his crotch, and Harry stands up so quickly his chair falls over backwards.

“Mr. Styles,” the teacher exclaims. Harry can feel how hot his face is, can feel the eyes of everyone in the room. Lauren is blushing too, he can tell, but he doesn’t look at her. “Is everything alright?”

“May I go to the toilet?” Harry asks, voice shaking. Someone snickers, and Harry feels the tears starting in his eyes.

“Uh, sure,” the teacher frowns, glancing at Lauren and then back at Harry. “Please be quick, we’re in the middle of a lesson.”

Harry all but runs to the door, somehow managing to keep himself in check until he gets to the bathroom. He makes sure that it’s empty and then locks the door, locking himself in a stall for good measure and burying his face in his knees. He’s more than a little shaken up, his fingers trembling.

No one has ever touched Harry like that, not without his permission. Sure, he’d done a bit of experimenting back at home but nothing like that, not in school. He wants to cry, wants to rip Lauren’s hair out of her head and then go the fuck home to England where he was safe and happy and didn’t have to talk to anyone except Liam and Niall.

He stays in the bathroom for the rest of the period, doesn’t come out until long after the final bell has rung. The classroom is empty when he goes in to retrieve his stuff, and all the busses have already left by the time he makes it outside to the curb.

“Took you long enough,” Anne says, pulling away as soon as Harry is in the car. “What happened, did you get lost?”

Harry opens his mouth to assure her that he’s fine, but before the words can come out, he breaks down. Anne nearly crashes the car when Harry starts crying, reaching over to grab for his hand.

“Harry, honey,” she coos, rubbing his thumb over the back of his hand. “Hey, love, what’s wrong?”

“I hate it here,” Harry bites, sobbing quietly. “I wanna go home, mum, I fucking hate this place!”

Anne startles a bit, but doesn’t scold him. “What happened, darling?” she asks, keeping an eye on the road until she stops at a red light.

Harry just shakes his head, dropping her hand and wiping at his face. He doesn’t want to tell her, can’t possibly explain what just happened. He wants to vomit, thinks he might if he doesn’t get out of this car soon.

Anne doesn’t ask any more questions and Harry runs once they pull into the driveway, sprinting straight to his room and locking the door. He cries into his pillow for a bit and pretends he can’t hear his mum knocking on the door, waiting until she goes away before he finally rolls over and pulls his phone out of his pocket. 

He opens up the group chat he has with Niall and Liam, sniffling quietly as he types out a message.

_Harry: Hey losers_

It takes a few minutes until someone replies. It’s about dinner time in England, which is probably why it takes so long until finally Niall texts back.

_Niall: what do u want_

_Harry: Ummm my friends and my house and my old school :(_

_Niall: :(_

_Liam: You don’t like it????_

_Harry: I hate it_

_Harry: All the guys are mean they keep closing my fingers in my locker and tripping me and the girls are fuckin weird mate some girl I don’t know tried to touch my dick in the back of the classroom_

_Liam: The fuck??????_

_Niall: is she cute tho ?_

_Liam: Niall pls not now_

_Niall: sorry_

_Niall: that sucks bro_

Harry allows himself a little chuckle, wiping at his face again. 

_Harry: I miss you guys_

_Harry: A lot_

_Liam: We miss you toooooo :(((_

_Niall: we could skype? ?_

_Harry: Not right now_

_Harry: You guys don’t need to see me cry_

_Liam: Aw Hazzzzzz :(_

_Niall: lame_

_Niall: love you bro_

Harry smiles and drops his phone on the bed, rolling onto his back. He wants a shower and some pasta and then bed, exactly in that order. He gets up to do just that and ignores any and all questions from his mum, resigned to keep his problems to himself until he can figure a way out of this mess.

\- 

He starts working the front desk for his mum’s salon, and it doesn’t take long at all for the girls at school to find out.

The basement only has two rooms; the room directly to the right of the stairs, under the bedrooms, is where the front desk and waiting room are, and to the left is where the actual hair cutting takes place. Anne has hired two other girls from the area to work as stylists, and she pays Harry $10 an hour under the table to work as the receptionist. It only takes one girl from his class to come in for a haircut before the salon is swamped with them every day, and Anne forces him to keep working for the amount of business he’s bringing in.

“They seem nice, Harry,” Anne says, as she passes the front desk. She’s just finished up her last appointment of the day, and the other girls are sweeping up the other room. 

“I’m sure they are,” Harry mutters, closing out of the programs he has running on the computer.

“Maybe you should call them back,” Anne suggests. “The last three girls I had in my chair all said they’ve tried texting with you in the past few weeks.”

“I don’t wanna talk to them, though,” Harry sighs. “I just want to be left alone. I don’t want to date any of them.”

“Is it because of Lauren?” Anne asks. “Sarah, the last girl I had, said she thought you two were a thing. Is that true?”

Harry scoffs, cheeks pinking up a little. “No, it is absolutely not true.”

“Is she nice?” Anne asks. “Maybe you could ask her out?”

“She’s not nice,” Harry says. “And I’m not asking anyone out, mum.”

“Okay, alright,” Anne concedes. “All I’m saying is don’t alienate yourself from your classmates.”

“More like they’re alienating me from themselves,” Harry mutters.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Anne frowns. “Are they mean to you?”

“No, forget I said anything,” Harry says quickly.

“Harry, is someone being mean to you? I can call the school, I’m sure that-”

“No, don’t call anyone,” Harry says, pushing out of his chair and rounding the desk. He hugs Anne around the waist quickly, and she hugs him back automatically. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Okay,” Anne hums, pecking a kiss to the top of his head. “You’d tell me, right? If you were being bullied?”

“Jesus, mum, no one is bullying me,” Harry chuckles. “I’m just the weird new kid, they’ll get over it.”

“You’ll make some friends,” Anne smiles. “I’m sure of it. Who wouldn’t want to be your friend?”

Harry smiles in return, slipping around Anne and setting off up the stairs. He doesn’t know why he feels guilty, like he just lied to her, but he does. He’s not being bullied, though, not really. Some kids are just rude here, it’s nothing more than that.

-

Inevitably, things get worse. Despite his telling Anne that he has no interest dating any of the girls from school, she still somehow manages to set him up with one of her clients two weeks later. Harry still has no friends at school and has been growing increasingly better at avoiding everyone, but two Fridays later he finds himself dressed somewhat nice and being dropped off at some little home-style restaurant down by Ellisville.

Her name is Emma, and she has long blonde hair and a red crop top even though it’s nearly November. She keeps giggling at nothing and Harry’s already grown tired of it, rolling his eyes at his mother as he steps out of the car.

“I’ve been coming here since I was little,” Emma tells him, leading him into the restaurant. There’s a cream colored decal on the glass door that reads _Destiny Street Diner_ , and even though Harry would rather be anywhere but here, he has to admit it feels quite cozy. The inside of the diner is all soft greens and creams, with dark wood booths and floors. There’s a small bar with only about eight or so stools, all of which are chrome with warm green cushions. The atmosphere is nice, and it smells absolutely wonderful, and Harry thinks if he had better company he’d be quite happy.

“It’s nice,” he says, following Emma up to the host podium. A boy, probably about the same age as Harry and Emma, comes bouncing out from the kitchen after a moment, skipping straight to the podium.

“Hello!” the boy chirps. “Table for two?”

“Yes, please,” Emma says, her tone suddenly much flatter than it’s been. Harry pays her no mind, following the boy to a booth next to the window.

“My name is Louis,” the boys says, handing them both menus. “I’ll be your server tonight. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“I’ll have a sparkling water with _lime_ , please, not lemon,” Emma says, hardly looking up at the waiter.

“Just water will do,” Harry hums, giving the other boy a soft, apologetic smile.

Louis looks a bit surprised when he hears Harry’s accent, but he doesn’t make a comment, bless him. “Coming right up,” he hums, turning on his heel and bouncing back over to the kitchen.

“Ugh,” Emma sighs, looking up at Harry over the top of her menu. “Figures he’s our waiter.”

“You know him?” Harry asks, watching her curiously as he picks up his own menu.

“We went to middle school together, but he went to North after, and I went to South. He’s, like, so annoying. He’s a theater kid,” she grimaces, like that means anything to Harry.

“So? He seems nice enough,” he says.

“He’s a _theater_ kid, I said. He, like, sings and dances and acts, like, all the time. He thinks he’s so much better than everyone, too. I’ve also heard he’s, like, a super slut. According to some of my friends at North, he hooks up with, like, every boy that looks at him,” she says.

Harry blinks, looking down at his menu. He supposes it’s not far fetched to think that the peppy, flamboyant boy he just met is gay, but for some reason, hearing Emma say the words is a bit jarring.

Louis comes bouncing back, slightly more tame this time with two drinks in his hands, and takes their dinner order. Harry finds himself blushing as he orders a fish and chips, cheeks pinking at the sound of Louis’s tinkling giggle.

“Seems fitting,” Louis comments. “Matches your accent, doesn’t it?”

“Is that not a common thing here?” Harry says, glancing up at Louis and over at Emma.

“I mean, it’s pretty popular, but it is known to be a British thing,” Louis says. Emma just rolls her eyes and sips at her drink, so Harry turns his full attention to Louis.

“Well, I’ll have to see whether you do it justice around here, then,” he says, a smile twitching at his lips.

Louis grins, bright and infectious. “It’s pretty good, to be honest. Only trust it around seaside towns, though. The further you get from the coast, the more risky the fish is. But, if you’re a seafood guy, New England is definitely the place for you.”

“I’m not exactly a tough critic, but I’ll keep that in mind,” Harry hums.

“Anyway, I’ll go put that order in,” Louis says, the faintest of blushes gracing his own cheeks now. Harry smiles and watches him go, only looking back at his date when the door to the kitchen has swung all the way shut.

Emma watches him for a moment and then looks down, her lips pursed like she’s got something sour in her mouth. The only sour thing that Harry can detect, though, is her attitude.

They don’t speak very much throughout the date, but that’s par for what Harry was expecting. Emma is boring and plain and unoriginal; if Harry was looking to date someone, he’d want someone that’s funny, and nice, and supportive. Emma seems to fall under exactly none of those categories, and by the end of dinner, Harry’s quite positive they’ll never speak again.

“Thanks for coming in, guys,” Louis says, clearing their plates away as they clamber out of the booth. “Good to see you, Emma.”

Emma gives him a slight nod and glances down at her phone. “My mom’s here,” she says, aimed somewhere near Harry’s head. “See you at school.” With that she’s gone, disappearing out the door without another word.

“No, it’s fine, I don’t need a ride,” Harry mutters. “I’ll just fly home on me fucking broomstick like Harry fucking Potter, no worries.”

Louis giggles behind him, and Harry turns to smile at him.

“What a bitch, right?” Louis says quietly, so that none of the other few patrons in the restaurant hear. “How long have you been seeing her?”

“First date,” Harry says. “And last date.”

“Yikes,” Louis chuckles. “Well, good luck finding someone better. Not that you can find much worse,” he shrugs.

“Cheers,” Harry says, backing away from Louis slowly. “Guess I’m off to ring my mum for a ride, then.”

Louis looks just slightly enamoured, and it might have something to do with Harry going full Brit on him. Harry’s shocked to discover he might be using it to flirt, especially with another boy. 

“Good luck,” Louis says, sending Harry off with a salute and another soft giggle.

Harry pushes out the door of the restaurant still smiling, plopping down on a bench under the covered front porch and pulling out his phone to call for a ride. Anne asks him how the date was and he finds himself saying he enjoyed it, but he doesn’t mention that the best part wasn’t the girl he was with.

-

If Harry thought things at school couldn’t get any worse, he was dead wrong.

Come Monday after his date with Emma, the entire atmosphere of the school has shifted. He’s lost the female attention almost entirely, and while he thought he would be alright with that, it’s terribly unsettling. The same girls that used to wait outside his first period class just to say hello to him as he walked in are now glaring at him in the hallway, scoffing and whispering to their friends.

He doesn’t understand it, but he could almost deal with it, if it wasn’t for the abuse from his male classmates increasing tenfold.

Instead of stepping on the back of his shoes they now full on trip him in the hallways, laugh loud and mean when he goes tumbling to the floor. They play keep away with his backpack and his textbooks when they can get them from him and they shove him into his locker when they walk by, usually muttering things under their breath that Harry usually doesn’t catch over the roaring in his ears.

Even Lauren, who never fails to beg for attention in history, hardly looks at him on Monday. She’s on her phone the whole class, which isn’t terribly unlike her, but she leaves the phone unlocked on the desk for half a second in the middle of class and it’s just long enough for Harry to accidentally read the last text she sent in an iMessage group.

_Gay boy keeps doodling in his notebook lol he’s probably drawing dicks he keeps angling it away from me_

She locks the phone quickly, but not before Harry’s read the whole message. His heart plummets and he looks down at the margins of his notebook, all filled in with doodles of little people and trees and houses. 

Lauren shifts awkwardly in her seat, probably aware that he saw the message. Harry slams his notebook shut, sinking in his chair, staring determinedly at the words on the whiteboard at the front of the room and trying to stop his hands from shaking so bad.

That’s why everything’s different today. Everyone thinks he’s gay.

He has no idea where the rumor started or who started it, or why it’s even such a big deal. Fucking hell, he’s not gay, who would spread something like that around? Even if he was gay, honestly, why does everyone care so much? He can see the girls that liked him being annoyed and the boys getting defensive, but he doesn’t understand why he suddenly feels like he’s underwater, being held there by the weight of the hands of every single one of his classmates.

He makes it through history and then bolts, weaving quickly and quietly through the hallway and out of the school. He needs several books from his locker for homework but he can’t risk wasting the time going to get them, terrified that someone will find him and beat him up now that the day’s over.

He falls into Anne’s car panting, hugging his backpack to his chest. Anne looks worried, twisting in her seat to look over at him.

“Alright, Harry?” she hums. “Did you run here?”

It’s meant to be a joke, but Harry nods. “Yeah. Wanna get home,” he mutters.

Anne’s face falls a little and she nods, pulling wordlessly away from the curb. Harry watches out the window, heart throbbing in fear at a group of boys on the front lawn of the school, all of them laughing loudly and tauntingly. It’s nothing to do with him, the rational part of his brain tells him, but the majority of his brain that isn’t the rational part is screaming that they’re laughing at him.

“Did something happen today, love?” Anne asks worriedly once they pull into their driveway.

“No,” Harry says automatically. “No, course not. Just don’t feel too good,” he says, hurrying out of the car.

“Oh,” Anne says, looking somewhat relieved. “Well, you should have said, I’d have driven a bit faster.”

“That’s alright,” Harry mumbles over his shoulder, shuffling up the walkway quickly. He feels fine, but he’s going to have to lock himself in the bathroom for a bit to really drive the lie home. Maybe he’ll turn on the shower and have a little cry, and his mum will think he’s only sick.

“I’ll find you some tummy relaxers,” Anne says, even as Harry shuts himself in the bathroom. “Let me know if you need anything, love, okay?”

“Thanks, mum,” Harry calls, voice already getting ragged. He holds his breath for a couple minutes and counts to ten four times, and then flushes the toilet. He turns on the shower immediately after and strips down, climbing in and settling down in the corner of the stall.

He buries his face in his knees and allows himself a hushed, panicked little cry, his heart racing and his mind racing even faster. He doesn’t know how to fix this, doesn’t know how to get away from this, doesn’t know how to deal with this for four more years.

He’s not fucking gay, and that’s the worst part. At least if he was gay, he’d have something to feel sorry about. But he’s not gay, he’s never even thought about it, so to be ridiculed and taunted the way he is is just terrible, awful, completely unnecessary.

He can’t help but think about Louis, from the Destiny Street Diner, how confident and flamboyant he was. He wonders if kids ever bullied Louis for being gay, how he got over it. He supposes it’s different if you really are gay, though. He supposes you’re forced to find a way to get over it if you really are what they’re making fun of you for.

He turns the shower off a half hour later and walks to his bedroom wrapped in his fluffy robe, hair wet and dripping down his back. Anne comes in with a couple of dry biscuits and some tummy relaxers and Harry takes them just to appease her, and then she leaves him alone and he curls up under the covers.

Maybe he should tell her. Maybe she could help him, give him some advice, or at least call the principal like she offered before. But Harry can’t even imagine it, knows he would cry just telling her, and he doesn’t want to worry her like that. He’s gonna find a way to deal with this on his own, gonna prove to himself and to everyone else that he’s an adult, and he’s gonna be fine.

For now, though, he’s gonna have another little cry. And maybe some more biscuits, if he can sneak to the kitchen and grab them without Anne noticing.

-

Harry manages to last another month with no major trouble at school, but just before Thanksgiving, all hell breaks loose.

His family isn’t planning on celebrating Thanksgiving; they’re always thankful for each other, his mother says, and they don’t need a holiday to love each other. They’ll have a roast dinner, probably, just for the fun of it, but Anne is dead set on not calling it Thanksgiving.

Things at school have been okay, or rather, as they always have been. The boys still give him a hard time, but the girls are split down the middle at this point. Half of them avoid him like the plague, and the other half chase him around asking him to come shopping or give them fashion advice. Harry hasn’t a single clue why they think they should ask _him_ , of all people, but he supposes it’s something to do with the gay thing.

That hasn’t died down, either. Despite the amount of times Harry’s denied it and defended himself to his peers, they won’t leave him alone about it. He’s learned to accept it, ignore it, and try to get on despite it, but every time he walks down the hall someone shouts some kind of slur after him and he’s getting frazzled.

Really, it’s 2017. If being gay is still something an entire high school can turn on one student over, then there truly has been no progress in this country. Even if Harry was gay, he can hardly understand why the boys trip him up in the halls and call him names. He just wants to be left alone, gay or straight or whatever the hell else.

They have a half day of school today, as it’s the day before break, and a lot of people are catching flights or driving lengthy distances to get to their families for dinner tomorrow. Things have been relatively calm today, meaning no one has threatened Harry’s life yet or knocked him over even once.

He’s in the boy’s bathroom on the second floor during passing period before his last class of the day when it happens. He’s washing his hands, keeping an eye over his shoulder in the mirror, when a couple of boys from his biology class walk in.

“Oh, look,” says one of them, leaning against the sink beside Harry. “It’s our favorite European faggot.”

“Leave me alone,” Harry rolls his eyes, stepping away to dry his hands. A second boy steps in front of him, blocking his path, and Harry ducks away instinctively.

He can probably do without drying his hands, he thinks, turning on his heel and making a break for the door. The third boy in the group catches his ankle with his own foot, sending Harry tumbling to the floor.

All three of them laugh, circling him like hungry sharks. “Need a hand?” one of the boys asks, reaching down to offer Harry some help up.

Harry, stupidly, accepts the hand, and regrets it as his arm is twisted and held behind his back. “Fuck off, just let me go,” Harry spits. “What’s your problem, anyway?”

“What’s my problem?” the boy asks, twisting Harry’s arm a little harder. “My problem is that I don’t like little gay bitches like you walking around here thinking you’re better than everyone because you’ve got a queer little accent and the girls think you’re cute.”

“I don’t think that,” Harry says, voice strained with the effort it takes not to cry out in pain. “Trust me, I know my place around here.”

The boy holding him down scoffs, looking up at his friends. “Do you think he means that, boys? Do you think we should show him exactly what his place is?”

Harry must miss some kind of nonverbal exchange, and then suddenly all three of the boys are attacking him, kicking and hitting and swearing.

Harry screams, trying to curl up, rip his restrained arm away, protect himself. Someone must hear him screaming, though, because it’s only a few minutes and a few good punches before a teacher comes bursting into the bathroom, shooing the boys away from Harry’s crumpled frame.

“Stop!” the teacher screams, blocking the door so no one can leave. The three boys look panicked when Harry looks up, but Harry’s vision is swimming and he feels like he might vomit. He doesn’t recognize the teacher that just saved his arse, he thinks he might be one of the senior math teachers, but he feels the sudden urge to hug him. “Nobody move,” the teacher says, looking down at Harry. “Are you alright, son?”

Harry nods, sitting up slowly. There’s blood on his shirt, but Harry doesn’t know where it came from. His lip is throbbing, and when he licks it it tastes like iron. Oh, he thinks, that’s where the blood is from. Excellent.

He loses some time watching his blood drip onto his shirt and when he looks up again the principal is pushing into the bathroom, looking absolutely livid.

Someone picks Harry up off the floor after the bell rings to start class and all four of the boys are led down to the front offices, the three bullies into the principal’s and Harry to the nurse. She gives him some ice and then leaves to go call his mother, and Harry lets his eyes fall shut while he holds the ice to his mouth.

Yeah, this sucks, he determines. This is definitely a turning point, as well. Things are either going to get much better or much worse from this point on, and Harry’s not sure he’s particularly keen on finding out which it’ll be for fear that it’ll be the latter.

The nurse comes back and makes him read some letters and identify some shapes so she can be sure he doesn’t have a head injury, and when she’s done, she escorts him to the principal’s office.

“Have a seat, Harry,” the principal says kindly, sitting on the edge of his desk. Harry shuffles to the empty chair in front of him and slumps into it, glad to find that the other boys are already gone.

“Am I in trouble?” he asks, peering up at the principal.

“Probably not,” the principal says. “You didn’t start the fight, right? Or do anything to instigate it?”

“If existing is cause for a fight, then yeah, I guess,” he mutters.

“Do you have any idea why they attacked you like that, Mr. Styles?” the principal asks.

“I don’t know, everyone in this school seems to think I’m gay, for some reason, and they don’t like it,” Harry says. “They said they were gonna ‘show me where my place is’, or something. I don’t know.”

The principal frowns, leaning forward a little. “Harry, how long has this been going on?”

Harry shrugs. “A few weeks? I went on a date with this girl, Emma Smith, and the next week there was a rumor that I’m gay and everyone seems to hate me for it, even though it isn’t true.”

The principal hums, twisting around to scribble something down on the notepad on his desk. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he says. “We’ve never had a serious case of bullying at this school, but the boys have always been horrid. Is there anything we can do to make you feel safer here?”

“Send me to a different school,” Harry scoffs, mostly sarcastic. “They’re never not gonna be mean to me, especially after this. Now that it’s happened once everyone’s gonna wanna take a swing at me, no?”

The principal winces, watching Harry for a moment. “I don’t mean to sound dismissive, but would you be happier if you transferred to North, maybe? It’s certainly not uncommon, and the commute wouldn’t be too much longer,” he suggests.

“And start all over again?” Harry says. “Sounds like fun.”

“I’m just trying to help you, Mr. Styles,” the principal says. “I know that transferring has been the right option for students in the past, and while I’ll hate to see you go, I think it may be a good option for you too.”

Harry just sighs, sinking back in his chair. The principal spends a few more minutes talking about the perks of transferring until Anne shows up, red faced and steaming.

“What happened?” she demands, bursting into the office and seeking Harry out immediately. “Oh, love, what did they do to you?”

Harry feels his eyes well up immediately. Something about the soft tone of his mother’s voice and the way her eyes go all warm and sad always gets him, never fails to bring out his emotions.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Styles,” the principal says. “We had no idea your son was being bullied, but we can assure it will never happen again. We were just discussing some options for the future.”

Anne sits down in the other empty chair beside Harry and Harry closes his eyes, keeping his breathing even and his emotions in check. He doesn’t want to cry here, not in front of his mother and not in front of the principal, but he’s already planning a good long breakdown in the shower when he gets home.

He doesn’t listen to the conversation going on beside him, not until Anne squeezes his hand and he finally opens his eyes. “Are you alright with that, sweetie?”

“What?” Harry mutters, sitting up a little.

“We’re thinking it might be best for you to transfer to North,” Anne says. “If anything, it’s a fresh start, and maybe things will be different.”

Harry closes his eyes again, shrugging one shoulder. “Whatever, yeah, fine,” he says. He doesn’t voice his fear that it won’t be different, that people there will be even meaner, that he’ll have to come crawling back here with his tail between his legs and deal with it all again. He doesn’t say that he’s terrified he’s never gonna make friends anywhere, or that he just wants to go home to England. He doesn’t say any of this, because he knows it isn’t going to change anything, and if he says it out loud it might become real, and that’s the last thing he wants.

-

They have an assembly on bullying after Thanksgiving break, during which all eyes are on Harry and his still bruised lip. Some people are snickering, some tittering in sympathy, and some are just watching him like he’s going to burst or break or evaporate.

It does seem to help, though. After the entire school is forced to sit through an assembly and listen to all of the consequences and charges for bullying, no one comes near him within a ten foot radius. It’s like he’s obtained a personal bubble the size of a school bus; people just about run when they see him coming down the hall.

There’s just under a month until Christmas break, and after New Year's, Harry will be starting at North. He’s a bit annoyed that he has to start over again, but he’s honestly hopeful for the chance. He just feels like if he can start off on the right foot at North, unlike he did at South, he’ll be fine. If he can just make one friend, he’ll be golden. 

He’s pretty much all out of hope for South. Even the weird kids turn away when they see him coming, so he has no doubts that he’s not going to make any friends in the next few weeks. He spends a lot of time with his head down, just trying to get through the day, keeping up with his homework and not talking to anyone more than he absolutely has to. 

He texts with Liam and Niall most days, but it’s hard to not miss them when he can’t see their dumb faces or hear their stupid voices. They chat on Skype most weekends, but Harry’s been avoiding telling them what’s going on, until just before Christmas.

“Are you coming home for Christmas, Haz?” Niall asks, his face dark and grainy on Harry’s laptop screen.

“No,” Harry pouts. “It’s too expensive to go back so soon after coming here, but I think I’ll be back in the summer,” he says.

“That’s so long,” Niall whines, looking genuinely upset.

“You better stay for, like, at least a month when you do come home,” Liam says. “It’s so weird being at school without you.”

“Trust me, I wish I was still at school with you guys,” Harry says. “Or that you were here. I fucking hate it here.”

“Haven’t you made any friends, though?” Niall asks. “Who wouldn’t want to be your friend?”

“Everyone, as it turns out,” Harry scoffs. “You guys have no idea.”

“What?” Liam asks, getting so close to the camera Harry can see his screen reflected in his eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Everyone here sucks,” Harry says. “Someone started a rumor a couple weeks ago that I was gay and people have been fucking awful ever since. They hate me because I’m different, I think they’re threatened by me, or something.”

“Americans and their patriotism,” Liam sighs. “Just be thankful you’re white.”

“True,” Harry says. “I got beat up in the toilet a couple weeks ago, not too bad, but they’re sending me to a different school after holiday,” he admits.

“Jesus, Harry,” Niall mutters. “You should’ve told us.”

“It’s embarrassing,” Harry whines. “I’m such a fucking loser here, guys.”

“Shut up, just because Americans are assholes doesn’t mean you’re a loser,” Liam says. “Where are they sending you?”

“There’s another high school in the north part of town,” Harry says. “They’re sending me there in hopes the people will be nicer. The principal said kids have transferred before and been fine, but that could very well be a load of bullshit.”

“Maybe not, though,” Liam shrugs. “Maybe it’ll be better.”

“Or maybe it won’t,” Niall pipes up. “Maybe it’ll be even worse and your parents will let you move back home. Greg is moving out for uni next fall, you can have his room. Ask your parents,” he says excitedly.

“Niall, honestly, shut up,” Liam hisses. “He’s gonna be fine.”

“Yeah, but like, just saying,” Niall says. “Doesn’t hurt to give him some hope, does it, Leemo?”

“You’re an arse,” Liam rolls his eyes. “You’re going to be absolutely fine, Harry.”

“Thanks, guys,” Harry chuckles. 

“Do you know anyone who goes to North?” Liam asks yet. “Have you met anyone?”

“I don’t think so,” Harry shrugs. “Like, I don’t really go out anywhere or- oh my god, Louis.”

“What?” Niall and Liam say in unison. “Who’s Louis?” Niall asks.

“He was my waiter when I went on that date with that girl, remember? She was the one who started the gay rumors. He was really nice, even though Emma had some shit to say about him,” he says.

“Well, Emma doesn’t seem like she has a lot of grounds to talk shit,” Liam says. “What’s Louis like?”

“Uh,” Harry shifts awkwardly where he’s laying on his bed, hoping that Niall and Liam can’t tell he’s blushing. He doesn’t want to tell them that Louis is smiley and flamboyant and really, weirdly pretty, for a boy. “He’s, um, like, really nice. And uh, I mean, I don’t really know him yet, we’ve only met once, but, like,” he shrugs, chewing on his lip.

Niall and Liam both blink at him, and Harry bets if they were in the same room, they’d be giving each other a knowing glance. Harry doesn’t know what it is they know, but they both look a little suspicious, even though there’s absolutely nothing to be suspicious about.

“Well, you should befriend him, then,” Liam says. “Maybe if you have a friend things will be easier.”

“And if they’re not, you know, Greg’s room,” Niall reminds him, winking at the camera.

Harry laughs, shaking his head. “Alright, dickheads, you guys should get to bed, it’s late there. I’ve got some homework to do, anyway,” he says.

“Alright, bye, Harry,” Niall chirps.

“Keep us updated, yeah?” Liam says. “Like, y’know, if you get the shit kicked out of you again or anything like that?”

“I will, promise,” Harry rolls his eyes. “Talk to you soon, guys.”

He hangs up before either of them can open their mouths again, closing his laptop and rolling over onto his back. He’s thinking about Louis, wondering how he’ll find him when school starts, if they could maybe be friends. He wonders if the people at North have already heard about him, if his reputation precedes him, or if he’s actually going to get the fresh start everyone thinks he will. 

He falls asleep without doing his homework, excited for the first time at the prospect of being done with South and starting at North after the holidays.

-

Christmas is lovely, even with just his parents cooped up in their warm little house in cold, bright Plymouth. The Christmas tree is still up in front of the bay window in the living room and all of Harry’s new socks and video games and gift cards have been neatly stored away, and the snow outside is still heavy and everyone in the Styles household refuses to shovel, so the tea and hot chocolate are ever flowing and the cozy Christmas movies a many.

Harry spends New Year’s with his parents, accepts the bit of champagne his mother offers him and stays up with them until midnight. They watch the fireworks in Times Square on the TV cuddled up in the living room until Anne falls asleep on Harry’s shoulder and Harry puts his head down and drifts off with her, not entirely keen on getting up and going to his cold bed.

His holiday is so nice he nearly forgets about the fact that he has to go back to school soon, until the night before. He does his absolute best not to panic, packs his bag and leaves it by his bedroom door and memorizes his schedule thirty times over, and doesn’t go to bed until it’s late and Anne comes in to ask him to please turn his light off, it’s keeping her up.

He doesn’t sleep much, tossing and turning almost the whole night through, until the sun starts peeking through his curtains and he figures getting up early and being thoroughly ready might ease some of his anxiety.

He showers and repacks his bag and eats breakfast and double checks the homework he was supposed to do over break and repacks his bag again and before he’s ready, Anne tells him it’s time to go.

It’s a bit longer of a drive to Plymouth North, but not ridiculously so. His heart is beating so hard by the time they get there Harry thinks it might escape, might just jump out and let him go through the day without it. Somehow he manages to keep it in his chest as he gets out of the car, giving his mum one last nervous smile before throwing his bag over his shoulder and marching into the school.

Right off the bat, everyone is staring at him. He’s a new student in the middle of the school year, of course they’re going to look. No one is outright rude to him, though, no one says anything or calls him any names or trips him or steps on his feet so he’s off to a good start, he thinks, shuffling into the front office to get his locker number and combination.

His locker is on the second floor, not too far from his first period class. He lingers by it for longer than he should and then pulls out his schedule, following the numbers on the classrooms until he reaches room 224, first period English.

He finds a spot in the middle of the classroom; not so far back that he’ll look uninterested, but not too far forward that he’ll attract attention. Students fill in around him slowly and he keeps his head down, but the few people he makes eye contact with just smile politely and continue their conversations.

Harry stares down at his books piled on the table in front of him and reviews the list he made in his head of everything he got bullied for at South. Being gay, of course, which isn’t even true, but also his accent, and apparently seeming like he thought he was better than everyone else. People also didn’t like that he was ‘cute’, or whatever, but that’s not really something he can change. 

He vows to stay as silent as possible, not give people the opportunity to realize that he’s different. Maybe he can just be the weird, quiet new kid, and everyone will leave him alone and Harry can live his life in peace. 

“Morning, everyone,” the teacher hums, placing her messenger bag down on her desk and letting her eyes sweep over the classroom. “Do we have a Mr. Styles joining us today? Ah, yes, there you are,” she grins, giving Harry a small nod.

Harry forces a little smile and a quick wave when everyone turns to acknowledge him, hoping they can’t see that his hands are shaking. Everyone turns away as quickly as they turned around and Harry feels a little bit of tension leave his body, counting it as a win.

So that’s that, then. He’ll just wave and nod and smile and he won’t have to speak, ever, and if he does he’ll just do it quickly and quietly.

The class isn’t the most exciting one he’s ever sat through, but it doesn’t take long for him to catch up with the material thanks to the prep work he did over break. He’s careful to maintain a steady pace when leaving the classroom after, not wanting to walk too fast or linger too much or do anything that will bring attention to him and his newness.

As the day goes on, Harry starts to see the main difference between North and South; at South, the sense of community was overwhelming. Everyone knew everyone and everyone had an opinion, and that was why they were all so dead set on exterminating Harry. Here, though, no one gives half a shit. Not a single person that Harry passes in the hallway tries to introduce themselves or anything, they just quietly acknowledge him, say hello at the very most, and carry on. Harry absolutely loves it.

He makes it all the way through his day without having to speak to anyone, save for a few teachers before class. He gets all the way to last period biology without a single problem, though he is a bit disappointed that it seems like no one is going particularly out of their way to make him feel welcome or to be his friend.

That is, until two minutes before the bell rings to start class. He’s doodling on the cover of his notebook when he hears a familiar giggle, and he looks up to find none other than the waiter from the Destiny Street Diner waving to someone in the hallway and dropping his bag on a table at the front of the room.

Louis’s eyes sweep over the room and Harry drops his gaze, staring intently at his notebook. He jumps when someone touches his arm, looking up to find Louis standing over him.

“Hi,” Louis says sweetly. “Sorry, couldn’t help but notice that you’re new, right?”

Harry panics, swallows thickly and nods. He’s terrified that if he speaks now, someone will hear and the news that he’s different will spread like wildfire and every nice thing he’s thought about this school so far will be wrong.

“I feel like I’ve seen you, though,” Louis says. “Oh, you’ve been in my diner, right? I knew you looked familiar! I recognize the curls,” he grins, eyeing Harry’s hair.

Harry smiles, nodding again. 

Louis nods as well, looking a bit confused suddenly. He’s probably weirded out that Harry hasn’t said a word, probably remembers that he’s English and is finding it strange that Harry won’t speak.

“I haven’t seen you around here before, though, have I? Did you just start here?” Louis asks.

Harry, sinking heart and all, nods once more. It’s obvious now that Louis’s put off, nodding slowly and backing away a bit. Harry wants to jump up and drag him back and beg him to be his friend, but he also desperately does not want to open his mouth.

“Okay,” Louis says. “Cool, well, I’ll see you around then, I guess.” With that he’s off, bouncing back over to his seat. Harry watches him for a moment, heart falling into his stomach when he sees Louis lean over and whisper to his tablemate, both of them laughing quietly.

They’re talking about him, probably. Fuck, he fucked it up. He made Louis think he’s weird, and now he’s truly just going to be alone for all four years of high school. Whatever, he thinks, he can tough it out and stay with Niall this summer, and keep living like that until he graduates, and he can go to uni back home and forget all about this hell country. 

He daydreams about it until the final bell rings, and everyone starts packing up to go home. Harry keeps his eye on Louis as they all file out of the classroom, watching him bounce down the hallway and straight into a small group of people. The others laugh and welcome him in, all of them setting off together down the hallway in a small, lovely little clump. Harry curses himself internally; Louis has friends, and a life, and of course Harry knew that but now he’s sure that Louis’s never going to want to be his friend. Louis has nothing to lose by not talking to Harry, and Harry’s never going to have the guts to approach him first.

He waits on the curb for his mother and gives her his best smile when he climbs in the car, dropping his bag into the backseat.

“So, how was it?” Anne asks anxiously. “Any better? Meet anyone?”

“It was better, actually,” he says. “I just didn’t speak and no one spoke to me, and I went through the whole day without even being noticed,” he hums. “I’m gonna be fine.”

“Harry,” Anne says, glancing over at him as she pulls away from the curb. “You have to make friends, love. You can’t just go through high school all by yourself,” she says.

“No, really, mum, it’s okay,” Harry assures. “There’s only a few months left, anyway, and then I’ll just go home for the summer and stay with Niall, or something. I mean, Niall and Liam are still my friends no matter what, it’s not like I’m _totally_ alone,” he says.

“Harry, you can’t go home for the whole summer, love. This is home, now. You have to find a way to make it work. You can’t just suffer and then run away as soon as you can,” she says softly.

“Actually,” Harry argues, “I can do that. And I’m _going_ to do that,” he says. 

“Harry-”

“No, you already ripped me away from my home and my friends and my school and my life, you don’t get to decide what happens here or what I do or don’t do,” he says. “You’ve done quite enough, mum, just let me be now.”

Anne falls quiet. She wants to argue, Harry can tell, but she won’t. She won’t, because she’s too sweet, too loving, too caring and she knows he’s hurting and she knows it’s her fault.

“Can you drop me off here, actually?” Harry says, spotting a certain diner out the car window. “I overheard some kids saying it’s a good study spot.”

“Of course, love,” Anne says, voice quiet and hurt. Harry knows he fucked up and probably shouldn’t have said any of what he just said, but he’s hurt too and they can pick up the pieces later. “Call me when you need a ride home, okay?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Harry mutters, making sure his wallet is in his bag before he gets out of the car. Anne waits until he’s inside before she pulls away, and Harry sighs long and deep as he waits at the host podium.

“Oh, hello again,” Louis’s voice chirps. Harry looks up to see Louis bouncing out of the kitchen, a smile gracing his delicate face. “It’s just me today, so sit wherever you like.” He’s tying his apron around his waist like he just got here. He probably did, since they came from the same place.

Harry nods in thanks and shuffles through the restaurant, taking a booth by the window in the corner and letting Louis place a menu down in front of him. “I’ll be back in a few to take your order, okay?” Louis says, leaving the table with a flourish and a grin.

Harry somehow resists the urge to smash his face off the table, cussing himself out internally. He feels so bad; he’s obviously making Louis uncomfortable by being so weird and awkward, and he wants so desperately to be Louis’s friend, but he’s so afraid to try. What if Louis doesn’t want to be his friend, is just super friendly to everyone, and what if he turns Harry down or it gets even weirder or-

“Ready to order?” Louis asks, suddenly back at the table with a notepad and a smile. Harry blinks and looks down at the menu, realizing that he didn’t even look while Louis was gone.

It’s a few awkward seconds before Louis slides into the booth across from Harry, dropping his pen and notepad and looking Harry in the eye. “Okay, I’m sorry, but I have to ask. I know I heard you speak last time you were in here. Why don’t you speak anymore?” 

Harry panics, blinking again and staring at Louis’s face. Fuck, he’s not ready. He has no idea what to say, watching Louis’s eyes widen in equal panic.

“Shit, sorry, is that insensitive? Can you actually not, like, physically speak?” Louis worries. “Fuck, sorry, I’m so sorry. Goddamn it, Louis, Perrie always says to be careful about sensitive topics fucking _fuck_ I’m such a-”

Harry can’t help but laugh, shaking his head. “Wait, wait, I can speak,” he assures, realizing too late that he just broke his one and only rule.

“Oh,” Louis stops his rambling, slumping a little in relief. “Well, good, why didn’t you say that?”

“Sorry,” Harry mutters. “Don’t like to speak very much, you know, in public.”

“Your accent is so pretty,” Louis says, seemingly without his brain’s permission. “I mean, why would you want to hide that?”

“Long story,” Harry chuckles, shrugging one shoulder.

“Look around, bro, I got time,” Louis laughs, gesturing to the empty restaurant. “Or, I mean, fucking shit, you don’t have to tell me anything. _God_ , I’m so insensitive, Perrie would fucking murder me right-”

“No, no, it’s no big deal,” Harry hums, touching Louis’s wrist to stop him. “It’s just, ah- I got bullied really badly, at my old school. So badly, in fact, that I had to transfer. Think it had something to do with the accent, and the way it makes me look to people,” he shrugs, looking down.

“That’s fucked,” Louis says, frowning. 

“It might also have to do with the fact that people thought I was gay,” Harry says, glancing back up to gauge Louis’s reaction.

Louis stiffens, meeting Harry’s eyes. “Well, what’s wrong with being gay?” he says, watching Harry closely. 

“Nothing in my opinion,” Harry says honestly. “But it got me hit a couple times.”

“People are moronic,” Louis scoffs, shaking his head. 

“Agreed,” Harry hums.

“Well, anyway, now that I know you can speak, what can I get for you?”

Harry blinks yet again, glancing down at his menu. “Um, I’ll just get an order of chips, please,” he says.

“Don’t think we serve just chips,” Louis frowns. “Like, you want a bag, or…?”

“Oh, no,” Harry frowns back. “I mean, um, fries, yeah.”

“Oh,” Louis says. “Why didn’t you say that in the first place?”

“Because fries is a weird thing to call them,” Harry says, a smile pulling at his lips. This is banter, this is the road to friendship, and he can do this.

“And chips isn’t?” Louis counters, grinning back at him.

“Well, your own bloody menu says fish and chips, doesn’t it, so I suppose it’s not out of the question, no?” Harry fires back.

Louis laughs, shaking his head as he jots it down. “You’re weird, but fine, I’ll get you some _chips_ , happy?”

“Quite,” Harry smiles, handing his menu over to Louis and watching him bounce away. 

He tugs his bag closer to him on the seat and opens the zipper, pulling out the assignments he has due for tomorrow. He figures that as long as he’s here he should get some work done, as his mum is definitely going to want to talk about his little outburst when he gets home.

Louis comes back about fifteen minutes later with a basket of fries, plopping back down across from Harry in the booth and smiling when he sees what he’s working on.

“Ah,” he hums, “you’re fitting in here already.” Harry frowns, popping a fry in his mouth and watching Louis curiously. “My friends come in here all the time and eat fries and do their homework while I’m working,” Louis elaborates.

“Oh,” Harry smiles. “Well, that’s good to know, I guess.”

“You should hang out with us sometime,” Louis says suddenly. “You know, if you want to. I think you’d like them.”

Harry grins, pausing with another fry halfway to his mouth. “Okay,” he says, watching Louis grin in return.

“We’re drama nerds,” Louis says, “I’m just gonna warn you now. We can get pretty weird, hope you’re okay with that.”

 

“That’s alright,” Harry shrugs. “I mean, I’m not, but I can be easily converted.”

“Don’t say that,” Louis says seriously. “I’ll take you up on it, really.” 

“I’m serious,” Harry laughs. “I’m into it.”

Louis lights up, reaching for his notepad and tearing out a sheet of paper. “Here,” he hums, scribbling down a phone number and handing it over to Harry. “Text me later, and we’ll make plans. I’m so excited,” he says.

Harry cannot keep his matching excited smile off his face, folding the piece of paper with Louis’s number carefully and putting it in his pocket for safekeeping. “I will, definitely,” he says.

“I’m serious though,” Louis says again. “We’re gonna do a musical marathon, like, all the important ones, at least. We don’t take this stuff lightly,” he says.

Harry only kind of wants to die at the thought of spending an entire day watching musicals in a room full of theater nerds, but he’s so happy to be in the light of Louis’s smile that he can’t say no. “I’m there,” he says, laughing when Louis does a little dance in his seat.

“This is gonna be so fun,” Louis says, slipping out of the booth. “I should get back to work now, though. Don’t forget to text me!” he says, scampering off to the kitchen and leaving Harry grinning into his fries, entirely too distracted to finish his geometry homework.

-

They chat on and off until Harry’s mum texts to ask if he’s ready to come home, because dinner will be ready soon and she doesn’t want him out too late on a school night, anyway. Louis brings him his bill and stays to chat until Anne shows up, and Harry finally shuffles outside and climbs quietly into the car.

They don’t talk for a few minutes, until they’re about halfway home. Harry can’t stand the silence, and he knows his mum probably can’t either, so finally he sighs and turns to her.

“I’m sorry about what I said earlier,” he says, voice low. “I know you want what’s best for me, and you didn’t really have a choice in this, anyway.”

“Don’t apologize,” Anne says. “I can’t imagine how upset you must be, how hard it must be to leave your friends and everything you know only to be placed in such a rotten situation here. Let’s not talk about this, though, yeah? Unless you really want to?” she says.

“I really don’t want to,” Harry sighs in relief, leaning over to rest his head on her shoulder for just a moment. “Thanks, mum.”

“I love you, Harry,” Anne says, glancing over at him with a small smile. “And I just want you to be happy here.”

Harry gives her a small smile in return and pulls out his phone, typing Louis’s number into a new contact and saving it. He starts composing texts in his head, unsure of what he should say, since he’s sending the first text.

He doesn’t send it until they’re home, anyway, when he goes to put his backpack in his room while Anne finishes up dinner. He flops down on the bed and thinks for a few moments, finally typing out a simple message that feels the least awkward.

_Harry: Hello it’s Harry!_

Louis doesn’t answer right away, but Harry knows he’s still at work, so he’s not worried. He leaves the phone on his bed and makes his way to the kitchen, sitting down just as Anne is placing the food on the table.

-

He doesn’t check his phone again until after dinner, changing out of his jeans and then flopping down on his bed again to look through the notifications. There’s a couple messages from his group with Liam and Niall and a couple from Louis, and Harry chooses to open the ones from Louis first.

_Louis: harryyyyy are you free on saturday?_

_Louis: me and my friends are already planning to turn u into a drama nerd !_

_Louis: we need to know what u’ve already seen and stuff so we can put together a list_

_Harry: I am free Saturday and I’ve seen Hairspray once?_

_Louis: a good one indeed but not nearly enough young one. no worries though we are on the case !_

_Louis: u’re booked by the way don’t make other plans we’re having movie day all day in stan’s basement_

_Louis: i realize u don’t know stan or anyone but do not fear i will introduce u soon_

Harry giggles softly, amused by the way Louis only seems to speak in multiple texts. He’s already overwhelmed with excitement, thrilled at the idea of having friends that he can actually spend time with. He just prays that they like him, and that he can really get on board with the whole theater nerd thing.

They keep texting back and forth all evening, and then suddenly it’s 1am and Louis is saying he should get to sleep and Harry just wants to keep texting forever. He falls asleep still smiling about the prospect of having people to hang out with. Saturday cannot come soon enough.

-

Harry’s just finishing up at his locker the next morning, trading out the books he brought home for the ones he needs for first period, when someone taps him quite confidently on the shoulder. Harry flinches on instinct and whirls around, finding Louis’s grinning face looking back at him.

“Morning, Harold!” he chirps. “Do you have a moment?”

“To talk about our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ? I’m afraid I don’t,” Harry jokes, eyeing the small group of people loitering behind Louis.

“Dammit,” Louis says. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to settle for introducing you to my friends.”

Harry smiles somewhat awkwardly, nervous around new people. He recognizes the three people with Louis as the same group he saw Louis meet up with yesterday after class, and he finds that he’s actually quite excited to get to know them.

“So, everyone, this is Harry,” Louis says, wrapping an arm around Harry’s shoulders. Harry feels like he’s flying. “Harry, this is Stan, Perrie, and Ed.”

Upon closer inspection, the group looks like a clusterfuck of random people. Stan, the one standing closest to Louis, looks like he might fit in well with the jocks. He’s wearing a Red Sox t-shirt, Adidas sweatpants, and Nike slides with socks. He gives Harry a small smile and Harry smiles back, eyes drifting next to Perrie. She’s gorgeous, blonde, wavy hair and bright, blue-gray eyes. She’s dressed in light blue skinny jeans and a gauzy white top with fringe all along the bottom, a thin brown headband placed along her hairline. She’s bouncing slightly on her feet, clearly excited. Ed, last but not least, looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here. He’s quite plain, with ginger hair and a black t-shirt over blue jeans. He gives Harry a tiny smile when their eyes meet, and then Harry looks back to Louis.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Harry,” Perrie gushes. “Louis told us all about you yesterday.”

“Not much to tell, I should think?” Harry says, glancing between Perrie and Louis. Louis looks a bit flustered, giving Perrie a harsh look.

“Well, I mean, not your whole biography, but enough,” Perrie says easily. “I _love_ your accent, by the way, it’s so pretty.”

“Thank you,” Harry blushes, ducking his head a little.

“Down, girl,” Ed jokes, but when Harry looks up, he looks just as stoic as ever.

“Shut up,” Perrie rolls her eyes, looking over at Louis. “You told him about Saturday, right?”

 

“Obviously,” Louis says. “We wouldn’t be doing it if he wasn’t coming.”

“Get out while you can,” Stan warns. “These two will drag you straight to the pits of theater hell, if you let them. Just look at me and Ed.”

“I don’t mind it,” Ed pipes up, shrugging one shoulder. “There are worse things we could be into.”

“Yeah, like football or hockey,” Perrie says, wrinkling her nose.

“Oh, fuck off,” Stan laughs, nudging her with his hip. “You’re a girl, you’re not supposed to like sports, anyway.”

Perrie inhales slowly and turns to face him, and Stan takes off without another word. Perrie chases him recklessly, shouting down the hallway after him about gender roles and sexism. Ed rolls his eyes and shuffles after them, waving goodbye to Louis and Harry.

“They’re a bit odd,” Louis giggles, turning to face Harry. “But I love them.”

“They’re lovely,” Harry grins, happy to see Louis so happy. “I can’t wait to get to know them.”

“Which lunch do you have? Stan and I are in second,” Louis says.

“First,” Harry pouts. “But I spent lunch in the library yesterday, because I didn’t know anyone.”

“Perrie and Ed are in first,” Louis says excitedly. “You should sit with them! I’m sure they’d be thrilled,” he says.

“Oh,” Harry hums. “Well, I’ll try to find them today.”

“Good,” Louis smiles, just as the bell rings to tell them first period will be starting soon. “Well, I’ve gotta run all the way to the history wing, but I’ll see you later?” he says, backing away slowly.

“Definitely,” Harry says, pushing his locker closed and hoisting his bag up onto his shoulder. Louis grins and then turns around, scurrying away down the hallway to the history wing on the other end of the floor. Harry watches him go and then meanders to his first period, thinking the whole class about what he’ll talk about with Perrie and Ed at lunch.

-

He spots Ed’s hair from across the cafeteria and weaves through the mess of tables, finding him and Perrie settling in a small round table near the windows. “Hello,” he greets, smiling warmly. “Mind if I sit with you?”

“Please do!” Perrie beams, clapping her hands. “Louis mentioned you had the same lunch as us, I’m glad you decided to sit with us.”

“Thank you,” Harry says, not sure what else to say, as he sits down in the empty chair at the table. Ed has a red tray of mozzarella sticks and milk in front of him and Perrie is pulling a container of celery out of a brown paper bag, and Harry realizes he doesn’t have anything to eat. He didn’t eat lunch yesterday, either, because he wasn’t allowed to eat in the library, but today he just forgot all about it.

Ed pushes his tray between them wordlessly, nodding for Harry to share with him. Harry gives him his most genuine smile but only takes one mozzarella stick, not keen on stealing food from his potential friends.

“So what brings you to Plymouth?” Perrie asks, munching on her celery. “Have you been here long?”

“My dad had to move for work,” Harry explains. “Still not entirely sure what he does, but it was important enough that we had to leave the country,” he shrugs.

“That sucks,” Ed says, giving him a sympathetic head tilt. Harry gets the feeling Ed doesn’t like to emote much more than he has to.

“Yeah,” Harry nods. “So we moved here over the summer, which sucked because I didn’t know anyone and had to spend, like, the last month of summer on my arse in my house.”

Perrie pouts, reaching across the table to pat his arm comfortingly. “Yeah, Louis mentioned you had a rough time at your old school,” she says softly.

“Really rough,” Harry confirms. “Kids are pretty awful.”

“Agreed,” Perrie says sadly. “We’ve all had pretty rough times, too, you know, Ed and Stan and Louis and me. But we’re all here for each other, and we’re all here for you now, too,” she says.

“Thank you,” Harry grins, munching on the mozzarella stick in his hand so he won’t cry, or something.

“What are you doing after school today?” Perrie asks, dipping another piece of celery into her container of peanut butter that she’s magicked up from somewhere. “We all go to the diner after school on Tuesdays and Thursdays, you know, Louis’s diner? It’s our thing, we have our own booth and everything,” she says proudly.

“Yeah, Louis mentioned that you guys do homework there sometimes,” Harry says.

“‘Homework’,” Ed chuckles, using his fingers to make air quotes.

“Some of us do homework,” Perrie rolls her eyes. “Some of us goof off and talk about soccer the whole time.”

“Oh, I love football,” Harry says, perking up. 

“Of course you do,” Perrie mutters, but Ed perks up as well.

“You do? I’ve been a fan of Manchester since I could toddle,” Ed says.

“Me too!” Harry grins. “My friends and I used to go to the matches all the time.”

“That’s sick,” Ed says. “I’ve always wanted to go, but, you know, kinda hard to get there from here.”

“Yeah, I’d think,” Harry chuckles. “Maybe we can go together one day. My friend Liam, from home, his dad used to work at the stadium, so he could always get tickets cheap for us and our friend Niall,” he says, going a little soft when he starts thinking about his friends.

“That’s insane,” Ed says. “You’re so lucky.”

“Ugh, can we stop talking about sports now,” Perrie sighs. “What do you say, Harry, coming to the diner with us?”

“Yeah, course,” Harry says, grinning when Perrie turns to high five Ed.

“This is gonna be great,” Perrie gushes. “I’m so happy you’re part of the group.”

“What, Pez, getting bored of us?” Ed teases.

“Never, Edward,” Perrie hums, leaning into his side to give him a little cuddle.

Harry watches them, awed by how close they are. They could not be more different, but yet their friendship works so incredibly well. Perrie reminds him of a female version of Louis; loud, excited and painfully sincere. Ed, on the other hand, seems more like Harry, shy and reserved but easy to get along with if there’s a genuine connection.

Lunch is over much too fast, but Perrie tells him to stick with Louis after last period and they’ll all meet up and head to the diner together. Louis will be working but that usually doesn’t stop him from hanging out with them a good amount of the time, and Harry is pretty honored to be a part of it. This seems like a special tradition for the four of them, and to be let in on it so early on in their friendship feels like something really, really special.

Time passes much too slowly for Harry’s liking, and by the time last period biology comes around, Harry can hardly wait to see his new friends again. He gets to class before Louis, but not by much, and when Louis comes in he plops down right next to Harry.

“This seat is mine now,” he tells Harry, a mischievous smirk on his face. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Is that allowed?” Harry asks. “Not that I mind, of course.”

Louis shrugs, glancing over at him while he pulls out his books. “As long as you don’t chatter all class and distract me,” he jokes.

“Sure, because that’s how it’ll go,” Harry teases right back, rolling his eyes. “Biology is actually my favorite subject, did you know?”

“Really?” Louis hums.

“Yeah, cells and shit? Sick,” Harry grins.

“You’re full of shit,” Louis laughs. “So, you’re coming to the diner today, right? Perrie told you?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Is that okay?”

“More than okay. Everyone’s really excited to get to know you,” Louis says.

“I’m quite jazzed as well,” Harry says. “Everyone seems really cool.”

“Don’t let them fool you, they’re a bunch of losers,” Louis shrugs. “But they’re my losers, and I’ll kill anyone that touches them.”

“Oh, tough guy,” Harry teases, poking at Louis’s ribs. Louis bats him away and, before Harry knows what’s happening, grabs him by the collar of his shirt. There’s still a smile on his face but Harry flinches anyway, jerking out of Louis’s grasp.

“Shit, sorry,” Louis says, sounding as worried as he looks. “Sorry,” he says again, quickly, wrapping his arms around Harry’s middle for an apologetic hug.

Harry shakes his head, hugging Louis back quickly and a bit awkwardly. “No, sorry, you just startled me,” he mumbles.

Louis pulls away frowning in sympathy, watching him carefully. “Sorry,” he says again.

“Don’t be,” Harry says, smiling easily. “See, you’re not that tough. All I had to do was flinch and you melted into a puddle,” he giggles.

Louis narrows his eyes playfully, lips spreading into a smile. “I’ll get you one day, Harry Styles, and your little dog too.”

“What?” Harry frowns. “I don’t have a dog?”

“It’s a- no fucking way, tell me you’ve seen The Wizard of Oz?” Louis asks, horrified.

“Uh, maybe when I was little?” Harry says, though he’s sure he’s never actually seen it.

“God, we’re adding that to the list,” Louis says, pulling out his phone and sending off a quick text. “Absolute disgrace.”

“Sorry,” Harry shrugs. “I told you I was inexperienced.”

Louis glances over at him for a lingering moment, eyes sweeping down his chest so quickly Harry almost doesn’t even notice. “Clearly,” he mutters, turning back to his phone quickly. If Harry didn’t know better, he’d think Louis was blushing about something.

The bell rings a moment later and the teacher wastes not a second in launching into her lecture about blood cells, which Harry manages to tune out for most of the period. He spends more time focusing on passing notes back and forth with Louis, and by the time the final bell rings, there’s a pile of crumpled up notebook pages in front of them that Louis deposits into the recycle bin by the door on his way out.

“You’ve got your bike, right?” Louis asks over his shoulder, leading the way down the hall where Perrie, Ed and Stan are already congregated. 

“Oh, um, no,” Harry says, face going hot. “I don’t, um, I don’t have one.”

Louis frowns at him, but his face softens immediately when he sees that Harry is embarrassed. “Oh, well, that’s alright. It’s just that we usually take our bikes to the diner after school, but we can walk.”

“No, I’ll just walk,” Harry says. “You guys can ride, and I’ll catch up.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Perrie says, picking up the thread of conversation seamlessly, somehow, even though Louis and Harry are still a few feet away. “You don’t have a bike, Harry?”

“No,” Harry says, blushing a little deeper.

“You can borrow mine,” Perrie smiles comfortingly. “I’ll just ride on Stanley’s handlebars,” she says, patting Stan’s shoulder lovingly.

“First of all,” Stan scoffs, “don’t ever call me that again, _mom_. And also, Ed’s got pegs on his bike, ride with him.”

“Relax,” Perrie rolls her eyes. “Can I ride with you, Edward?”

“Not after you just called me Edward,” Ed grimaces.

“He can just ride with me,” Louis interjects, wrapping a hand around Harry’s bicep. Harry’s skin tingles in every place it touches Louis’s, and he tries to not think so hard about why. “I’ve got pegs, as well.”

“But that’s not comfortable, though,” Perrie says. “I’ll ride on the pegs, and Harry can just have my bike. Wait- you know how to ride a bike, don’t you?”

“Um,” Harry blushes a little more, looking over at Louis helplessly. 

“Leave it, Pez,” Louis mutters. “You can just ride on my pegs, no worries.”

“Okay,” Harry nods, following along as everyone makes for the door. “Um, what are pegs?” he asks quietly, leaning into Louis’s side.

“Oh, they’re like little footholds on my back tire,” Louis says. “You can stand on them, and hold my shoulders.”

“Oh,” Harry says, stomach going a bit funny.

It seems odd, a little, to be riding down the street leaning on Louis like that. It seems too intimate, maybe, for two boys, especially two boys who just met each other the other day. He finds himself wishing he knew how to ride a bike, so he could just borrow Perrie’s and Perrie could ride on Louis’s pegs.

Mounting is a bit awkward, but once Harry figures out how to balance his weight properly, he locks himself in place and vows not to move an inch until they get to the diner. He’s sure he’s hurting Louis but Louis doesn’t seem to mind, the muscles in his shoulders and back flexing under Harry’s hands every time he moves the handle bars.

It takes about ten minutes to get to the Destiny Street Diner, and by that time, Harry’s entire body is shaking from the exertion of holding himself up on Louis. He bounces a little when he gets off the bike to disguise the fact that his knees are shaking, watching as everyone locks their bikes up outside the restaurant.

“I hope your shoulders are okay,” Harry says, following close after Louis into the diner. “I’ll bring my own mode of transportation next time, promise.”

“It’s fine, really,” Louis chuckles, glancing over his shoulder at Harry. “Stan pops his tires, like, once a week doing stupid shit, and I have to get him home like that usually. I’m used to it,” he says.

“Oh, good,” Harry says, nodding slightly. “I’ll still bring something for next time, though,” he says.

“Okay,” Louis grins, watching Harry for just a moment. Harry blushes slightly at his own feet, and finally Louis turns away. “Get settled, and I’ll get the fries,” he says to the group at large, darting off behind the bar and into the kitchen.

“C’mon,” Perrie says, taking Harry by the wrist. “Our table is over here.”

She leads him to the booth in the back corner, separated from the window by a doorway that leads into the function room at the back of the diner. Perrie slides in closest to the wall and Harry sits down next to her, realizing when he gets a good look at the table that it actually is theirs.

Their names are carved into the wood, along with various little doodles and messages. There are personal belongings, as well, a light purple phone charger already plugged into the wall and several sweatshirts crammed into the corner between the wall and where Ed is sitting. Harry can’t help but feel a little special, being able to sit here with them, where they’ve obviously spent a lot of time together.

There are only a few other people in the restaurant, and only two of them are actually occupying a table, the rest scattered around the bar. Louis bounds out of the kitchen after a couple of minutes in his uniform and carrying two baskets of fries, placing them down on the table with a frown.

“Oh no,” he mutters, pouting at the table. “There are five of us now, there’s no room for me in the booth,” he says.

“Don’t be silly,” Perrie hum, grabbing Harry’s arm and tugging him rather forcefully into her side. Harry squeaks in surprise but goes easily, opening up a Louis-sized seat on the end of the booth once he’s thoroughly embedded into Perrie’s side. Louis grins and nestles in beside him, clearly not concerned about the lack of personal space, either.

Harry should probably feel uncomfortable, squeezed so tightly between these two people he hardly knows at all in a tiny booth. He doesn’t feel uncomfortable, though, not at all. In fact, he kind of likes it when Louis rests his elbow on the table next to Harry’s, their arms aligned and pressed together.

They stay like that for a while, chipping away at their homework and chatting and snacking. It’s absolutely lovely, in Harry’s opinion. He really feels like he’s in one of those American teen films he watched growing up, and he had no idea real life could be like this. Louis gets up every now and again to greet people or run food but other than that Harry stays leaning into his side quite comfortably, Perrie leaning into him on the other side and using his shoulder as a pillow as she tries to figure out her geometry homework.

Harry loves the group, really, but he has to admit he’s happiest when Louis is there, too. It’s a little less awkward when Harry can lean into Louis and away from Perrie, and though Perrie is lovely and beautiful and very kind, he can’t help but feel that her attention is less than innocent and he’s not sure he’s okay with that.

“What I can’t understand,” Stan says, through a mouthful of fries, “is why, Harry, you signed up for this. You know they’re gonna make you watch musicals, like, all day, right?”

“Yeah,” Harry hums, grinning when Louis tugs on a curl that’s tickling his neck.

“You’re acting like you don’t enjoy it,” Perrie says, frowning across the table at Stan.

“I enjoy it,” Stan assures, “but I have no idea why any normal person would enjoy it.”

“Who says I’m normal?” Harry interjects, nibbling on the end of a particularly crispy fry. “You lot hardly know me, I could be crazy.”

“Are you?” Louis hums. “Let’s see your wild side, then, Harold.”

“My name is not Harold,” Harry says.

“It should be,” Louis says. “You look like a Harold.”

“What about me looks like a Harold?” Harry squawks.

“It’s very regal sounding, and you’re very regal,” Louis explains, tugging on another curl and watching it bounce back into place. “Are you sure you’re not a runaway prince?”

Harry giggles, batting Louis’s hand away. “Quite sure, actually.”

“Can you stop flirting for, like, two seconds,” Ed mutters, rolling his eyes. “Just wondering.”

Harry goes scarlet immediately, but Louis seems unbothered. “Oh, Eddy, this is nothing. You wanna see me flirt with someone?”

“Not really,” Ed shrugs, looking every bit as uninterested as he sounds.

“Dick,” Louis mutters, but he’s still grinning, sliding out of the booth again when the bell over the door chimes. “Anyone want anything while I’m up? Drinks? More fries?”

Everyone murmurs their current contentment and Louis’s off, greeting the new customers and showing them to an empty booth. No one seems to be lingering on the flirting comment except for Harry, who can’t decide if he’s okay or not with the notion that he and Louis were _flirting_ , like they might _like_ each other, or something. That’s ridiculous; Harry’s never flirted in his life, especially not with a _boy_. Gross.

“So,” Perrie says, tearing a page out of her notebook and slapping it down on the table, like she’s about to start some very serious business. “We need to make a list of everything we need to watch on Saturday, and whether we can find it on DVD or Netflix or OnDemand.”

“I have Les Mis on DVD, and I’m pretty sure Rent is on Netflix,” Stan says. “Also, Louis said The Wizard of Oz is a must, as well, and I’m pretty sure my sister saved that to our DVR, like, seven years ago.”

“I have the bootlegged copy of La La Land that my cousin made,” Ed chimes in. “And I’m pretty sure I have The Sound of Music on DVD as well.”

They go on like that, listing some titles that sound familiar and some that really, really don’t, and Louis joins in here and there too when he has a minute, but the restaurant is filling up as it’s approaching dinner time and he spends increasingly less time at the table with them.

It’s nerdy, much nerdier than anything Harry would have engaged in back home. Perrie and Ed are singing some song from West Side Story and Stan is just giggling along, and it’s almost weird how weird Harry doesn’t find it. Liam and Niall would be running as fast as they could from this interaction, but somehow, Harry finds himself giggling along as well.

Maybe it’s because no one in this group seems like they should belong in this group, but Harry feels like he fits right in. He feels more himself than he has in weeks when Louis plops down beside him for a couple moments and throws out another title to add to their movie marathon. Even though he can’t contribute to the conversation about musicals and he has no idea whether The King and I or Oklahoma is more important, he never feels like an outsider.

They stay until the dinner rush really starts, and then decide it’s time to make their exit. Ed offers to give Harry a ride home this time since he’s the only other one with pegs on his bike, and even though Harry feels remarkably more awkward doing this with Ed than he did Louis, he does need a ride home.

They wave goodbye to Louis across the bar and file out the door, Harry taking the few awkward moments it takes him to mount the back of Ed’s bike and then they’re saying goodbye to each other, as well, all setting off in different directions.

“Thank you for the ride, by the way,” Harry says into Ed’s ear, hating the way he has to straddle his back. “I know this is probably super inconvenient and, like, as awkward for you as it is for me.”

“No worries,” Ed chuckles. “I actually don’t live too far from you. I was supposed to go to South after middle school, because that’s the district I live in, but I begged my parents to enroll me at North so I didn’t have to leave my friends,” he says.

“That’s sweet,” Harry hums. “How did you guys all meet, anyway?”

“Well, we’ve all known each other since middle school, at least. Louis and Perrie grew up next door to each other, so they’ve always been friends. They took me in in sixth grade because they found me getting bullied in gym class for having the slowest mile. They’re both pretty loud and outspoken, if you hadn’t noticed, and they would stand up for me when I couldn’t do it myself. And then we met Stan through a drama summer camp that he did in secret, because he didn’t want his sports friends to know he liked to act. He’s really good; you should hear him read a monologue sometime.”

Harry doesn’t even know what a monologue is, but he’s intrigued. “So you all really are as different from each other as you seem?”

“Pretty much,” Ed chuckles. “We’ve been inseparable for as long as we’ve known each other, though. And now you’re here, too, because Louis found you and liked you and insisted that we all would, too,” he shrugs. Harry nearly loses his balance, but that’s not why he’s blushing.

“And? Was he right?” he asks hopefully, desperate to know if this group of people he’s already grown attached to is willing to grow attached to him, as well.

“He was right,” Ed says. “I mean, I can see us becoming pretty close friends, can’t you? That is, if Louis doesn’t steal you and lock you away to keep for himself,” he jokes.

“Why do you say that?” Harry chuckles, but he’s blushing again, harder than he has all day. He’s thankful Ed can’t see his face.

“He’s known you, what, two days? And you’re already all he can talk about,” Ed says. “Even when you’re not there, hell, even when you _are_ there, he’s, like, infatuated with you.”

Harry can’t help but smile, liking the thought that Louis is just as intrigued by Harry as Harry is by him. Ed must mistake his silence for anything less than him trying to compose his absolute joy, because a moment later he hums softly.

“It’s not, like, in a creepy way, you know,” he says. “Like, I don’t think he’s gonna sneak into your bedroom in the middle of the night and cut a lock of your hair for his Harry shrine. At least I hope not,” he chuckles. “He just, like, really wants to be your friend.”

“I really want to be his friend, as well,” Harry says. “All of you, that is. I really want to be friends with all of you.”

He can see the way Ed’s mouth twists up into a smile from over his shoulder, and he smiles as well. They’re quiet for the rest of the ride to Harry’s until finally Ed pulls over into the driveway Harry points out to him.

“Thank you, again, for the ride,” Harry says, hoisting his backpack up higher on his shoulders as he tests his footing on the ground. “See you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Ed confirms, giving him one more small smile before pushing back onto the street. Harry wobbles up the driveway on his tired legs and lets himself into the house, finding Anne in the kitchen.

“Oh, good, I was just about to call,” she says, pressing a kiss to the side of Harry’s head in passing as she goes to retrieve something from the pantry. “Dinner is in about ten minutes. Where have you been?”

“At the diner,” Harry says, dropping his bag on the floor in the doorway and settling down at the breakfast bar.

“Quite the hangout spot, then, hm?” Anne chuckles. “Oh, listen, I’ve been meaning to ask you something. Can you give me a few hours at the salon on Saturday? I’m a bit swamped with appointments, and I could use your help at the desk,” she says, stirring a pot of what is presumably pasta on the stove and glancing over at him.

Harry thinks about it briefly and his heart sinks, because Saturday was supposed to be the musical marathon day, but he can’t very well tell his mum to go fuck herself because he has plans.

“I guess,” he mutters, slumping a bit in his seat and picking up an apple from the fruit bowl beside him, thumbing over the skin just for something to do.

“Well, don’t be so excited, dear,” Anne jokes, giving him a curious look.

“Sorry,” Harry cracks a tiny smile. “It’s just- I kinda had plans, but it’s alright. I can reschedule,” he shrugs.

“Plans?” Anne asks, turning around completely in her surprise. “With who?”

“I made some friends,” Harry says. “And they invited me over for a movie marathon, like, all day on Saturday,” he explains.

Anne stares at him for a second and then screams, actually screams, so loud that Harry startles nearly out of his seat and his dad comes running from down the hall.

“See!” Anne shrieks, running over to kiss his cheek quite forcefully, wooden spoon still in her hand. “I told you you would make friends!”

Harry’s dad, having concluded there is no immediate emergency, disappears back down the hall, leaving Harry alone in the kitchen with his terribly overexcited mother. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he chuckles, wiping his cheek when she turns away again.

“Well, screw the bloody salon, of course you can hang out with your friends. Oh, I’m so happy for you! Tell me all about them!”

Harry grins, still playing with the apple in his hands as he thinks about the group. “Well, there’s Ed, who just gave me a ride home from the diner on his bike- oh, I need a bike, by the way, please- and he has very very orange hair and doesn’t talk very much but has a really lovely singing voice and he likes football a lot, we have the same favorite team. And there’s Perrie, who is very pretty and sweet, and she’s loud and happy and likes to sing, as well. And Stan is like, kind of a jock, like, straight out of an American teen movie kind of jock, but I’m told he’s also an actor and he’s really funny and nice. And then there’s Louis, who I know the best. He’s really, really funny and kind and loud and he pulls my hair a lot but, like, in a joking way, and it was his idea to do the movie marathon because he wants me to be able to fit in with the group, and, yeah. They’re really fun,” he says.

Anne nods, glancing over her shoulder at him. “They sound very, well, different, I suppose. From Liam and Niall, I mean,” she says.

“They are,” Harry says. “But I don’t think that’s a bad thing, do you?”

“Of course not,” Anne assures. “I mean, I love Liam and Niall, but if these people make you happy, then by all means, I’m happy as well. They sound lovely,” she smiles.

“Yeah,” Harry grins. “The only thing is, like, they ride their bikes pretty much everywhere, I think, which poses a problem,” he says.

“Ah, I see,” Anne winces. “I suppose you regret never touching the bike we gave you for your fifth birthday?”

“Immensely,” Harry nods. “Why didn’t you force me to learn?”

“You can only try and force a screaming five year old for so long before you give up,” Anne admits. “But if you’re willing to learn now, I suppose we can find you a bike somewhere.”

“Thank you,” Harry sings, sliding out of his seat and wrapping his arms around Anne from behind. “You’re the best mum.”

“Mm, I’ll remember you said that next time we have a fight,” she chuckles, patting Harry’s arm affectionately. “Go wash up now, love, dinner’s about ready.”

Harry gives her another little squeeze, and then breaks away to head for the bathroom. He checks his phone to find that someone has created a group chat with all five of them, in which they’re discussing who needs to make sure they have which film on DVD for Saturday. Harry adds that he can bring loads of microwave popcorn as his contribution, and adds that to his mental list of things he needs to get before this weekend, along with a bloody bike.

-

They end up at the diner again on Thursday, but this time nobody brings their bike. They walk, all of them in a little cluster, and while Harry is thankful for their thoughtfulness, he also feels bad when they arrive about ten minutes late for Louis’s shift.

“I’m really sorry,” he says again, as Louis rushes off to the back to get changed. “I promise I’ll get a bike this weekend, as soon as my mum can take me to the store.”

“Really, Harry, don’t worry. Louis’s been much later for much worse reasons before,” she assures.

“Yeah,” Stan chuckles, “like when he was trying to play a prank on us last summer and ‘disappeared’ at the jetty only for us to find him stuck under the bridge.”

“That wasn’t funny,” Perrie pouts. “I thought he was gonna die.”

Harry smiles and lets Perrie scoot into the booth first, settling down on the outer edge. The diner is a bit more busy today, so Louis doesn’t stay when he comes to deliver their fries. He dances off to greet the other tables and spends most of the afternoon flitting back and forth to the kitchen, only stopping for a couple minutes at a time to squeeze into the booth next to Harry.

Even when Louis’s not at the booth, though, Harry finds that Perrie stays quite close to his side. She keeps leaning into him and resting her head on his shoulder and breathing on his neck, and while he’s not totally comfortable with it, he doesn’t know how to push her away.

Harry finds relief in the moments that Louis comes to the table, relishing the moments he can lean into his side and away from Perrie, even if just a bit. Perrie doesn’t seem to get the hint, though, and keeps coming in for cuddles, despite how Harry keeps shifting and trying subtly to nudge her away. No one else seems to think anything of it, or even seems to realize that Perrie is so obviously throwing herself at Harry.

He really does hope he’s wrong about that bit. Perrie’s lovely, and pretty and soft and kind, but Harry really isn’t interested in being anything more than friends with her. He doesn’t know if he’s reading too far into her affection but it does seem like she’s maybe flirting a bit, and Harry doesn’t know what to do about it.

He decides to let it happen, mostly, because Perrie is warm when she leans fully against his side and her hair is soft against his neck when she looks down to scribble something in her notebook. At least she’s not trying to grab his dick, he thinks to himself, shuddering at the thought of Lauren in the back of the classroom.

They’ve been there for a couple hours, ate all their fries and have most of their homework done, when Louis comes rushing to the table, sitting down hard mostly on Harry’s lap.

“Guys,” he hisses, looking flushed and giddy. “The absolute cutest boy just came in.”

“Where?” Perrie asks, picking her head up off Harry’s shoulder and turning around to look. “Talk to him.”

“No, oh my god,” Louis breathes, glancing over his shoulder as well. “I can’t do that, are you kidding?”

“Maybe if you could just talk to a guy, you’d get a date,” Perrie shrugs, resuming her previous position embedded in Harry’s side. “And then you could stop moaning to all of us about it.”

“No,” Louis squeals, sliding out of the seat again and fixing his apron. “Hopefully he’ll talk to me first. Do I look okay?”

“You look like Louis,” Stan says. “Take that as you will.”

Louis beams in his direction and then scurries off again, leaving Harry feeling like he’s just been through a windstorm. Then again, that’s kind of how he always feels around Louis.

He blinks once, thinking over that interaction. He knew Louis liked boys, yeah, of course he did. He thinks about his date with Emma, when she told him the rumors about Louis sleeping around a lot. Knowing Louis now, he can’t imagine that those rumors are true. Louis’s terrified at the thought of talking to a cute boy, there’s no way he sleeps with as many of them as Emma said he did. He finds himself frowning at the table, only looking up when he realizes everyone else is looking at him.

“You knew Louis was gay, right?” Ed says, breaking the silence, making Harry startle for some reason he cannot comprehend.

“Well, I- I mean, yeah, like, I guess. I didn’t- um, didn’t want to assume,” he stutters, cursing himself for being so awkward. Why is he being so awkward.

“You say that like thinking someone is gay is a bad thing,” Perrie says, sitting up. “Like it’s something negative to think about someone.”

“No! No, no, no, of course not, god, no,” Harry rushes, feeling himself blush. 

“It’s alright,” Stan assures him. “I was kinda shocked and awkward about it at first, too. But it’s really not a big deal, like, he’s still Louis.”

“I’m not shocked,” Harry says. “I just-”

“Then why do you look like that?” Perrie frowns. She looks cautious and confused, staring at his face.

“Sorry,” Harry breathes, curling in on himself a little. “I don’t know, sorry. It has nothing to do with Louis being gay, or Louis at all. Sorry,” he mutters.

Everyone visibly relaxes, and then Perrie wraps her arms around him sideways. “It’s okay,” she says, holding him for just a minute. “Sorry, we totally just jumped down your throat. It’s just that we’ve all been through some shit, we’re quick to defend and protect each other.”

“That’s sweet,” Harry says, feeling himself calm down in Perrie’s comforting embrace. “Really sweet, actually.”

“Louis got a lot of shit in middle school,” Stan says. “We’ve always kind of been his defense squad.”

“Yeah, and no one messes with any of us anymore, really,” Ed chimes in. “They know better.”

“That’s incredible,” Harry smiles gently. “I got bullied in my old school because of my accent, and people thought that I thought I was better than them because I sound posh, or something. They also thought that I was gay, which they didn’t like,” he admits.

“Wait, are you?” Ed says, cocking his head at him. Harry feels all of the blood in his body rush to his face, and he blinks.

Is he? He’s never really given it any real, honest thought. No, he’s never been terribly into girls, but he’s also yet to fully hit puberty, so he’s always just blamed it on that. He’s never thought about boys in that way, always just blindly denied being called gay because it was what everyone did. At home, gay was an insult. Even Liam and Niall used it as an insult sometimes, and Harry never thought anything of it. Now he’s got friends who actually seem to pay attention to things like that, and he’s beginning to think it might do him well to pay attention too.

“Um, I don’t know,” he says, quiet, honest. He stares down at the table and no one says anything, and then Perrie squeezes him a little.

“Well, we’re here for you,” she says. “No matter what. You’re part of this squad now, and we protect each other. We’ll always protect you, too.”

Harry smiles at her, finally returning her cuddle and letting her support his weight.

“Yeah, if you haven’t noticed, we’re kind of a mish mash of people,” Ed says. “We don’t judge.”

“Well, I judge a little, but I’ll never be mean and I’ll always have your back,” Stan shrugs.

Harry chuckles, and everyone else chuckles after a moment as well. 

Not that he’s ever given it much thought, but Harry always thought a sexuality crisis would be more of, well, a crisis. But as the afternoon goes on and he gives it a little more thought, even as he calls his mum for a ride home, he thinks he’s actually pretty okay with being maybe a little bit gay. Thinking totally objectively, of course, he supposes being with a boy wouldn’t be all that bad. Maybe he’s bi, or one of the other scary words he sees floating around the internet now and again, but whatever. He’s young, he’s got his whole life to figure it out, he supposes. And he’s got some great new friends that he’s sure will help him out all the while.

-

“I’d be a fantastic Cosette, I think,” Perrie says, laying lengthwise across the couch in Stan’s basement. It turns out Stan’s family is pretty well off, and the group has all their movie marathons here in the basement, because it’s nice and heated and his parents provide all the snacks they could ever need. Harry’s sitting on the floor in front of the couch, next to Louis, who has his head leaning back against the side of Perrie’s thigh.

“No, your voice is too deep,” Louis says thoughtfully. “You’d make an incredible Fantine, though, or maybe Eponine.”

“I dreamed a dream in time gone by,” Perrie belts out, earning herself a soft gasp of awe from Harry. “Or, on my own, pretending he’s beside me, all alone, I walk with him-”

“Eponine,” Ed interrupts, nodding and shoving a couple potato chips into his mouth. “Definitely.”

“Louis would be my Marius,” Perrie says, nudging the back of Louis’s head with her knee. “You’d make an adorable Marius.”

“No, I’m Jean Valjean,” Louis says, like he’s sure of it. “Ed is Marius, obviously.”

“Oh, true,” Perrie hums. “Stan is Javert,” she decides after a moment.

“What about you, Harry?” Louis says, turning to look at him. “Which character would you like to play?”

“Um, I don’t think I know them well enough,” Harry says. “Which would I do justice?”

“Do you sing?” Ed asks. “Let’s hear a few bars.”

“Oh, I don’t,” Harry trips over himself to assure, face going scarlet. 

“C’mon, everyone sings,” Louis says, nudging him with his elbow. “Just hum a little, surely with that accent and lovely speaking voice you can hold a tune.”

“Uh,” Harry glances around the room, silently begging for someone to save him. “I don’t, um-”

“Sunday morning, rain is falling,” Perrie sings, quietly enough that Harry can sing along. She nudges him with her toe, smiling encouragingly. “Steal some covers, share some skin.”

Harry sighs and clears his throat, waiting for Perrie to sing the next line so he can join in. “The clouds are shrouding us in moments unforgettable, you twist fit the mold that I am in,” he sings, soft but loud enough that they can hear and won’t make him keep going.

“Oh my,” Louis says, looking proud.

“Harold!” Perrie shrieks, sitting up and giving him a rough shake by the shoulders. “You can sing!”

“That’s not my name,” Harry whines, ducking away from her and hiding in Louis’s side, letting Louis protect him from her grabby hands. “And no, I really don’t sing.”

“You can, though!” Perrie shrieks again, grinning at the room at large and flopping back down on the couch. Louis runs his fingers through Harry’s hair and smiles at him, earning his attention rather quickly. 

“You do have a lovely voice,” Louis tells him. “You should consider joining choir.”

“I’ve never really thought about it,” Harry shrugs, fixing his hair where Louis’s gentle fingers messed it up. 

“Quick, Ed, advocate!” Louis shouts, making Harry flinch at the sudden volume.

“It’s fun,” Ed nods. “Not much to say. We sing songs. The teacher’s pretty nice.”

“There you have it,” Louis says. “Join choir.”

“Well, how can I refuse an offer so passionate and intriguing,” Harry teases, sticking his tongue out at Ed. “I’ll think about it. Will I have to sing in front of anyone by myself?”

“Just the teacher, so he can get a feel for your range,” Ed says. “Other than that, no, nobody really gets singled out unless they want to be.”

They drop it after that, which Harry is quite thankful for. They do keep discussing which roles everyone should play, and whether or not Harry would make a better Cosette or Enjolras. It’s honestly quite fun, even though Harry can’t sing along with them because he doesn’t know the words and has no opinion on whether or not Stan or Louis would make a better Jean Valjean.

They order pizza about halfway through Rent, and they shuffle around a bit to eat it. Harry ends up on the sofa between Louis and Ed, Perrie and Stan wrestling on the floor beside the coffee table to decide who gets the first piece. Perrie wins, inevitably, and then sits down right on Harry’s lap to eat it.

Harry blushes down to his chest, laughing awkwardly as Perrie leans back against his chest. Louis drives his fingers into her side and she shrieks, sliding off of Harry’s lap and ending up lying mostly over him, her legs on his lap while she leans back against Ed’s bent knees.

“Hope you don’t mind the lack of personal space,” Perrie says through a mouthful of pizza. “We’re a cuddly bunch. Well, I am, anyways. I think the boys just cuddle with me to get me to stop whining.”

“It’s like the girl’s never seen affection in her life,” Ed mutters, shoving her a little bit so she ends up even closer to Harry.

“Not from you,” Perrie pouts, curling up and nuzzling into Harry’s side. “You seem like a good cuddler, though, Harry.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever been told differently,” Harry says, hesitantly wrapping his arm around Perrie’s shoulders. Stan whistles from where he’s still sitting on the floor, but before Harry can blush any harder Louis is burrowing into his other side.

“Well, don’t leave me out,” Louis complains, nosing his way under Harry’s free arm and resting against his chest. “I like cuddles too.”

“Yeah, but you’re evil,” Perrie says, flicking Louis over Harry’s chest. “You tickle.”

Louis grins a mischievous grin and then Harry yelps, squirming away with the fingers jabbing into his ribcage.

“I fucking hate you guys,” Ed grumbles, escaping the mess of jostling bodies on the sofa and planting himself down on the floor with Stan.

“Leave him alone, Louis!” Perrie shouts, slapping playfully at Louis’s arm. “He’s a good cuddler, don’t make him want to stop.”

“I don’t remember agreeing to this,” Harry interjects, but he doesn’t make any move to push Louis or Perrie away from him.

“Are you saying you want us to fuck off?” Louis asks sweetly, blinking up at Harry. Harry’s heart does a funny little dance, and he shrugs the shoulder that’s supporting Louis’s head.

“No,” he says.

Louis grins and nuzzles a little closer, and Perrie takes it as a cue to do the same. They stay like that for a bit, until Perrie falls asleep on Harry’s chest and Louis gets up so they can take pictures of her. Louis never returns to the cuddle, though, ends up back on the floor with the other boys, leaving Harry all alone with Perrie drooling on his shirt. He doesn’t completely mind; she’s warm and smells nice, and honestly, he’s been in worse positions in his life. He does find himself staring at Louis more than once, but Louis seems careful in the way he avoids his gaze, pretends he doesn’t notice.

They watch a total of nine musicals throughout the day, of which Perrie sleeps through two. Harry finds himself back on the floor with Louis once she wakes up but he doesn’t get any more cuddles from the boy, which is disappointing, to say the least.

“Alright, losers,” Stan says eventually, sitting up from where he’s been curled up on the floor. It’s almost midnight, according to the home screen of Harry’s phone. “Time to get out, my parents like to go to church on Sundays, they’ll be annoyed if we keep them up too late.”

“Lame,” Louis mumbles, but no one argues, shuffling around and collecting their things and then migrating up the stairs.

“My brother can give you a ride, Harry,” Perrie says, mostly through a yawn. “He’s driving everyone else, anyway.

Harry smiles his thanks and they wait quietly in Stan’s front room, until Perrie’s brother’s car pulls into the driveway and they migrate out to the driveway and into the car.

Harry ends up in the backseat, squished between Louis and Ed. Ed gets dropped off first, and even though there’s only about five minutes between his house and Harry’s house, Harry feels achingly cold when he moves away from Louis’s side and into Ed’s vacated seat.

Nobody’s talking much but the radio is on low, and Harry watches the trees out the window until he feels Louis’s finger poke his bicep. He turns to look just as a streetlight catches on Louis’s face, and Louis just gives him the biggest, goofiest smile he can manage.

Harry grins back and sticks his tongue out, smiling at his lap until Perrie’s brother pulls into his driveway.

“You live so close to the state forest,” Perrie says, tired but excited. “This is great, we love coming here in the summer.”

“Yeah,” Louis hums, “Perrie says salt water is bad for her skin, so she makes us swim in the lake instead of the ocean.”

“Shut up,” Perrie groans. “Lakes are better, aren’t they, Harry?”

“Dunno,” Harry shrugs. “Never been swimming in one. And I’ve only ever been to the beach a couple times.”

“Isn’t England, like, literally an island? How have you hardly ever been to the beach?” Louis asks.

Harry shrugs again, gathering his things and reaching for the door handle. “You’d be surprised how little to do there is in my village and yet how undesirable going to the beach is.”

“Well, lakes are better anyway,” Perrie says. “Bye, Harry, see you Monday.”

“Bye, Harry,” Louis echoes. “Thanks for hanging out with us. We really like having you in the group.”

 

Harry beams at him, hunched over in the doorway. “Thanks for having me,” he says giddily. “See you.”

He lets himself in the front door and locks it behind him, tiptoeing down the hall as to not wake his parents up as he deposits his stuff in his room, changes and brushes his teeth, and then climbs into bed.

He checks his phone once more before he goes to sleep, finding a single notification. It’s a snapchat from Louis, and when Harry opens it, it’s a blurry photo of Harry walking up his front steps from behind, a peach emoji placed carefully over his arse. Harry giggles softly, settling down beneath his covers and takes a snap of his dark room, adding a caption, _juicy_ , innit?

Louis responds immediately, with a dark selfie from the backseat of Perrie’s brother’s car. _ur so fuckin british even in print_ , he’s written, a tiny smirk gracing his lips from what Harry can see.

Harry takes another dark picture of his room and blows up a tea emoji so it takes up most of the screen, sending it back to Louis with no caption. Louis responds immediately again, a smiling selfie with the caption _goodnight, govna_.

Harry plugs his phone into the charger and rolls over, his smile feeling somewhat permanent, like he’ll never stop being this happy. He’s absolutely thrilled to be let into this amazing group of friends, these people who care so deeply about each other and have so much genuine fun together. Harry can’t wait to get to know each of them, but he’s especially drawn to Louis, fascinated by his easy wit and charm. He doesn’t know what it is about Louis that makes him so alluring to Harry, but Harry is finding himself thoroughly allured, and while it should be terrifying, Harry’s quite content.

He’s been giving a bit of thought to the whole gay thing since it came up at the diner, but he’s still not really sure he’s ready to commit to a label. He’s not straight, probably, that much he’s comfortable with, but he doesn’t like the idea of confining himself to one label, straight or not.

He falls asleep still smiling, which he wasn’t sure was even possible before now. He wakes up to loads more snapchats and texts from Louis, which is the best thing he can imagine, honestly, and he decides maybe moving to Plymouth wasn’t the worst thing that could’ve happened, after all.

-

As spring approaches, Harry becomes damn near inseparable from his new friends. He’s well and truly one of them by now, if the way he’s integrated so seamlessly into their routines and inner workings means anything. He accompanies them to the diner every Tuesday and Thursday, even purchased and learned how to ride his own bike to adhere to their preferred method of travel, and he’s grown completely used to being squished in between Louis and Perrie at the booth, grown used to feeling cold once it’s time to get up and leave.

Despite how close he’s grown to every member of the group, Louis is still the person he feels the most comfortable around. Louis is a rare breed, Harry thinks, and he treats Harry like Harry is one, as well. Louis gets extra touchy with Harry, extra affectionate, and maybe it’s just because Harry is the only one who really tolerates it, but Louis spends most of his time touching Harry in some way. Sure, he goes after everyone’s nipples (except Perrie, usually) and ruffles everyone’s hair every now and again, but with Harry, his touches seem more intentional, more meaningful. Harry doesn’t know what that meaning is, or what he even _wants_ that meaning to be, but he does quite love being the subject of Louis’s attention. 

But with Louis’s attention, in most cases, comes Perrie’s attention. She’s a lot like Louis, in a lot of ways; loud, caring, and affectionate to a fault. She has a habit of copying the attention that Louis gives Harry, like when Louis ruffles Harry’s hair and Perrie does it twenty seconds later and twenty times harder. No one seems to pay any mind to it, but it’s eating away at Harry, and he’s not quite sure he likes it at all.

“Harry-bo, how’s your day?” Louis greets him, plopping down into his seat. It’s biology, the last period of the day, and once they’re done they’ll all head to the diner together for their Thursday homework session. 

“Quite good,” Harry says, smiling his most pleased smile when Louis gifts him a soft pat to the head. “How’s your day?”

“Well, it’s gone a bit downhill since I saw you last, if I’m honest,” Louis frowns. He skipped class during Harry’s lunch to come pay him a visit, plopping down at the empty chair at his, Perrie and Ed’s table and chatting for a few moments before he’d gone back to class. 

“What’s wrong?” Harry says, stealing Louis’s notebook from his hand to doodle a few smiley faces in it.

“Got a C on that geometry test I thought I aced,” Louis shrugs. “Thought I was finally getting good at math, but no. Foiled by proofs yet again,” he says.

“Maybe there’ll be extra credit,” Harry says. “Or maybe they’ll allow test corrections.”

“Yeah, hopefully,” Louis says, stealing his notebook back before Harry can do too much damage. “Can’t afford to do badly in that class this term.”

Harry hums in acknowledgement, staring down at his notebook for a moment. His mind drifts back to what he was thinking about before Louis got here, and he turns to Louis with a frown.

“Can I talk to you about something?” he asks. Louis turns to face him immediately, looking worried.

“Of course,” he says, turning his entire body to give Harry his full attention. “What’s up?”

“Have you ever noticed that Perrie is a little… weird around me?” he asks delicately, trying not to make it sound like he’s shit talking Perrie.

“Perrie’s weird around everyone,” Louis shrugs. “She’s weird in general.”

“Well, yeah,” Harry agrees, “but, I don’t know. I feel like she’s especially weird around me. Like at lunch today, you pinched my cheek in, like, a playful way, and two seconds later she pinched me so hard I think I might bruise.”

Louis’s gaze turns suspicious, eyebrows furrowing. “If you’re gonna talk shit about Perrie right now just be warned, she’s been my best friend for my entire life and I will not hesitate to defend her,” he says lowly.

“No, no, no!” Harry assures, shaking his head. “I’m not talking shit, I was hoping you wouldn’t think that. I love Perrie, she’s hilarious, and such a good friend. I’m just a bit worried.”

“Worried about what, though?” Louis frowns, cocking his head.

“Like…” Harry shrugs, looking down again. “Like, has she ever said anything to you? About me?”

“In what way?” Louis asks. “Stop being so cryptic, Jesus, it’s like I’m talking to a fortune cookie.”

Harry snorts, glancing back up at Louis. “Just- I don’t wanna sound conceited, or anything, but like… I feel like she might have a crush on me? Or something? And I don’t feel the same way, like, at all, so I just want to make sure she’s not gonna, like, get hurt or anything,” he stutters.

Louis blinks at him once, twice, and bursts out laughing. Harry flinches, watching in confusion as Louis doubles over, cackling into his own knees.

“What?” he cries, quieting down a bit when their teacher gives the two of them a stern look. “What’s funny?”

“Harry, that’s priceless,” Louis giggles, finally calming a bit and wiping at his eyes, as if he’s crying with laughter. “Perrie doesn’t have a crush on you, fucking Christ, she’s gay.”

“What?” Harry blinks. “What the fuck? Since when?”

“Since always, I suppose,” Louis says, still laughing softly. “She’s been dating this girl from Nantucket for, like, two years. Her family has a beach house there, they spend every summer together,” he explains.

“Oh my god,” Harry mutters, putting his head down on the desk and hiding under his arms.

Louis starts to laugh again, even as the bell rings and their teacher gets up to start class. 

“I’m a dick,” Harry mutters, trying to hide his blush as he pulls his notebook out.

“No, it’s fine, honestly,” Louis says. “I can see why you’d think that. She can be super cuddly and touchy sometimes, easy to think she liked you if you thought she was straight.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t know she was gay,” Harry says, shaking his head. “I’m so dumb.”

“I can’t believe it either, to be honest,” Louis says. “But I guess she never really talks about it. She doesn’t usually love to talk about herself, and talking about Jesy makes her miss her.”

“Aw,” Harry pouts. “Well, that’s good, then. I have a legitimate excuse for not knowing.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell her you thought she liked you,” Louis giggles again.

“Yikes,” Harry winces, “thanks.”

They fall quiet after that, as class really gets going. Harry can feel Louis watching him but he ignores it, determined to keep good notes about the differences between eukaryotic and prokaryotic cells.

He keeps a closer eye on Perrie today, determined to find signs of what Louis told him about her. He notices, about halfway through their basket of fries, that Perrie has a rainbow ribbon pinned to her backpack, and the background on her phone is a photo of her kissing a pretty, round-faced brunette on the cheek. Damn, he thinks, he’s a right tit for not picking up on that sooner.

He’s a little less weird about it when Perrie eats a fry out of his hand a couple minutes later, and when she demands a cuddle because she’s cold. He lets her have a fry and cuddles her extra close, knowing that she’s just being herself and that she really, truly doesn’t have a crush on him, or anything.

Louis, on the other hand, spends way more time than usual at the booth, giving Harry more than one random hug and lots of little, seemingly insignificant touches that make Harry feel like he’s glowing. He notices Stan and Ed watching them curiously every now and again, but they don’t seem worried, and Perrie doesn’t even seem to pick up on anything at all. 

Regardless, Harry spends the rest of the day with butterflies in his stomach, even long after they’ve all parted ways and gone home. He doesn’t know why, but he feels so special every time Louis so much as looks at him, the ghost of his touch still burning all over Harry’s skin, in every place Louis poked or pinched or patted. 

-

The prom posters covering every inch of the hallway seem overbearing and scary, like something Harry knows he should be looking forward to for the future but he’s not quite sure he’s into it. Prom has always seemed so cliche, something he wasn’t even really sure existed outside of teen movies, but here it is, exactly a week away. 

“It’s gonna be so magical,” Perrie sighs, resting her chin in her hand. Harry picks around his tupperware full of pretzel sticks, watching her from under his fringe. “Junior prom. I’ve been dreaming about it my whole life.”

“Seems like a waste of time to me,” Ed says, shrugging one shoulder. He’s got his daily mozzarella sticks on the tray in front of them, his little container of marinara sauce spilling over the side. 

“It’s not a waste of time,” Perrie argues. “It’s _magical_ , Edward.”

Ed rolls his eyes, but doesn’t argue again. “What even goes on at prom?” Harry asks. “Like, isn’t it just a dance?”

“Well, yeah, technically,” Perrie says. “But it’s _prom_ , Harold!”

Harry didn’t really consider himself a true part of the friend group until Perrie started calling him by his full name like that, but now when he hears it, he shudders like the rest of them do. “What’s the difference?”

“A dance is fun, and it’s casual and you go with your friends and sometimes a date,” Perrie says. “But prom is, like, so much more. You have to find the perfect dress and get your hair and nails and makeup done and find the perfect date and it’s in a really expensive venue with good food and music and it’s just everything a girl dreams about,” she says wistfully.

“Sounds okay,” Harry shrugs, popping another pretzel in his mouth.

“It’s more than okay,” Perrie assures. “I can’t wait for junior year.”

The more Harry pays attention, the more he notices the buzz of excitement throughout the school. All the girls look a lot more flirty and nervous in the hallway, and every time there’s a junior boy even in their vicinity, they get all blushy and giggly and awkward. 

There are a couple juniors in some of Harry’s classes, like the few girls that sit in the back of his biology classroom. He can hear them giggling and whispering from the moment he walks into class, but he doesn’t pay them much attention. 

Louis flounces in before long, collapsing into his seat next to Harry and launching immediately into a story about what his teacher said last period. Harry listens raptly, mostly just watching him talk, until someone sits down backwards on the stool at the table in front of them and Harry looks up.

“Hi,” the girl smiles sweetly, glossy lips glittering in the harsh fluorescent lighting of the room. “Just wondering, you two aren’t dating, are you?”

Louis chokes, but Harry just frowns. “Um, no, we-”

“Of course we aren’t, what the fuck,” Louis interrupts. “We’re just friends, Jesus.”

Harry blinks, glancing over at him confusedly. “Well, good,” the girl grins, leaning her elbows on their table and letting her eyes sweep over Harry’s face. “In that case, would you like to come to prom with me next week?”

Harry blinks again, her words processing in his mind. Louis is having a full coughing fit beside him but he’s too shocked to pay him any attention, watching the girl bat her pretty eyelashes at him.

“Uh,” he mutters, glancing around the room quickly, “sorry, what’s your name, love?”

The girl blushes, giggling down at her lap. “Caroline,” she says sweetly, blinking back up at him.

“Caroline,” Harry smiles slightly, making her blush a little more. “Nice to meet you. You know I’m a freshman, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” she shrugs. “That’s alright with me. I just think you’re cute,” she says.

Harry gives her a real smile, shrugging one shoulder. “Alright, well, um. Can I think about it?”

“Of course!” Caroline chirps, far too peppy. “Here,” she mutters, fishing in her bag for a moment and coming up with a tube of red liquid lipstick. She holds Harry’s wrist and stretches his arm out, writing her phone number on the inside of his forearm. It’s an absolute mess, and takes bloody forever, but she looks quite pleased with herself.

“Do you, um, do you wanna use my pen, maybe?” Harry offers, watching her struggle.

“No,” she huffs, “this is a trick I learned from buzzfeed and I’m gonna fucking make it work.”

Harry lets out a startled laugh, which makes Caroline smile as well. She’s quite pretty, he thinks, maybe he should go out with her just in case he finds himself interested.

“There,” she hums when she’s finished, capping her lipstick and putting it away. “Text me, okay?”

“Will do,” Harry says, looking down at his arm and trying to make out the number. Caroline giggles again and gets up, bouncing back to her seat a few tables behind them. She flips her hair on the way past and Harry gets a nice whiff, and it smells pretty good, he thinks.

Well, that’s that, then. He got invited to prom. Perrie will be so happy for him. He smiles a little to himself and turns to look at Louis, finding him scowling at his notebook.

The bell rings to start class before Harry can ask him what’s wrong, and it eats away at him throughout the entire period. Louis keeps sighing and huffing and shifting in his seat like he’s absolutely livid about something, and Harry wonders what it is he missed in the few minutes he was talking to Caroline that has Louis so ticked off.

He reaches over to doodle on Louis’s notebook, hoping that maybe a little smiley face will make Louis feel better. Louis turns the page before Harry’s pen can make contact, though, even though he was only about halfway down the page he was writing. Harry frowns and Louis doesn’t look up at him, just keeps scribbling down notes and ignoring him.

Oh, he thinks, Louis might be a bit pissed at him. He can’t imagine why, but he does back off, hunching in on himself a little and trying to be as quiet and careful as possible throughout the rest of class to avoid upsetting Louis any further.

Louis doesn’t exactly run from him at the end of class, but he doesn’t wait for him, either. Harry finds himself shoving his stuff in his bag and mostly running to keep up with him, weaving his way through the crowded hallway to stay on his tail.

Ed, Stan, and Perrie are already outside standing in a small huddle, waiting for Louis and Harry. On any other day, Louis would join the circle and make room for Harry, as well, but today he keeps his back firmly to Harry as he steps in between Perrie and Stan. Harry blinks and flushes a little and tries awkwardly to scoot in on the other side of the circle, between Stan and Ed, and when he makes eye contact with Perrie, she looks worried and confused.

“I’ve gotta get home,” Louis says, looking at everyone but Harry. “Busy afternoon. C’mon Pez.” He grabs Perrie’s wrist and then he’s tugging her down the sidewalk to their bikes, and Harry’s heart sinks into his stomach. Perrie turns around to throw Harry another confused glance, but she doesn’t pull away from Louis, and then they’re on their bikes and then they’re gone, riding away together, Perrie obviously trying to keep up with Louis’s ridiculous pace.

“So,” Ed says, turning to Harry. “The fuck?”

“I have genuinely no idea,” Harry says.

“He’s pissed,” Stan says. “Something must have happened, right?”

“I don’t know,” Harry says again, exasperated. “Everything was fine, and then this girl Caroline came over to our table in biology and asked me to prom, and I told her I’d think about it, and then Louis wouldn’t look at me for the rest of class,” he shrugs, looking down at his feet.

He doesn’t miss the look that Stan and Ed share, and when he looks up, they both look concerned. “What?” Harry asks, worry growing in the pit of his stomach.

“Well, first of all, that girl Caroline is a slut,” Stan says. “But Perrie doesn’t like when I use that word, so I take it back. But, like, you know,” he trails off, shrugging one shoulder.

“I’m sure he just doesn’t want you to get hurt,” Ed says quickly, throwing Stan a disapproving look. “Or, like, do anything you might regret.”

“Okay, but why is he so annoyed?” Harry frowns. “Why didn’t he just say that? Instead he got all pissy and huffy and ignored my existence.”

Stan opens his mouth, but Ed stops him with an arm over his chest and cuts him off. “He’s probably just annoyed,” Ed says quickly. “He’s had some trouble with Caroline and her friends before. Just give him some time.”

Harry keeps frowning, but that appears to be all that’s going to be said on the matter. They walk together to their bikes and then Stan and Ed are gone, and Harry can’t help but feel that they’re trying to escape him. Well, fine then, he’ll tell Caroline no, if it’s gonna be this much of an issue for everyone. He still puts her number in his phone when he gets home, just in case, and then washes the lipstick off and spends the rest of the day watching Criminal Minds with his mum in the den. 

-

If Harry thought he felt alone when he first moved to Plymouth, it was nothing compared to how he feels now. Nobody has opened any of his snapchats or messages in twenty four hours. Harry’s beginning to feel thoroughly iced out, planning a Skype call with Liam and Niall just to prove to himself that there’s some people in the world that don’t hate him. He’s been snapping everyone all day, and while Stan and Ed have both opened every snap, nobody is responding. 

“Are you alright, Harry?” Niall asks, with a mouthful of crisps. “You keep looking at your phone.”

“Yeah, I’m fine, I think,” Harry sighs. “I don’t know. I somehow pissed off all my friends and now no one is talking to me.”

“What’d you do?” Liam asks, his face so close to the screen that Harry can see his and Niall’s faces reflected in his eyes.

“Literally nothing,” Harry says. “A girl they don’t like asked me to prom, and now I’m an outcast.”

“That’s bullshit,” Niall frowns. “They sound terrible.”

“They’re really not,” Harry says. “That’s the thing. I really love them, and obviously I’m gonna tell the girl no, I just wish they’d listen long enough for me to let them know that.”

“They’ll come around, I’m sure,” Liam says. “From what you’ve told us about them, it sounds like they really care about you. They’re probably just shocked, or something.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Harry mutters, resting his chin in his hand and checking his snapchat again. Perrie opened all of his snaps just a few minutes ago, but she hasn’t responded either. He rolls his eyes and thumbs over to the stories page, his heart dropping into his throat when he sees Louis’s name. The preview of his story is him with some people in the background, people who he recognizes as Perrie, Stan and Ed.

He taps to open the story to find that, indeed, it is exactly what he thought. They’re at the harbor, it seems, at the end of the rock jetty. They’re all smiling, looking like they’re having fun, and Ed is holding a takeout bag like maybe they went to dinner, as well. Harry swallows hard and taps to close the story, feeling tears starting in his eyes.

“I gotta go, guys,” he says, voice low. Liam and Niall seem to catch on immediately but they don’t voice their sympathy, just saying goodbye softly and hanging up before Harry loses it.

He takes one last snap of his face, looking sad, and captions it _cool i get it sorry again_ and sends it to all four of them, tossing his phone onto the floor and tugging his covers up over his head.

He decides he’ll have a little cry in the shower, and then probably cry himself to sleep, as well. Just when he thought he had friends, he loses them over a girl that he doesn’t even really want to go to prom with. He decides while in the shower that, fuck it, he’ll do what he bloody wants. Caroline is pretty and seems sweet enough and Harry doesn’t care what rumors there are about her; if he gave a shit about rumors, he wouldn’t be friends with Louis, either. He picks up his phone off the floor when he gets back to his room and determinedly does not look at snapchat, pulls up Caroline’s number and texts her _Hey Caroline, it’s Harry :) I’d love to go to prom with you, what color is your dress? I’ll get a matching bowtie :)_

He’s probably oversold it with the smiley faces, but Caroline answers almost immediately. _It’s pink and white, I’ll send a picture in the morning! I’m so excited!!!!_

Harry turns his phone off after that, but not before he caves and checks snapchat one last time. They’ve all opened his snap this time, even Louis, and when Harry checks, Louis’s story is deleted. He huffs a breath and slides the bar to power his phone down, plugging it in to charge and turning over in bed. He does end up crying himself to sleep, just as he anticipated, and he hopes Louis and everyone else is bloody happy with what they’ve done.

-

“Hey, mum,” Harry mutters, plopping down at the kitchen table where she’s eating her breakfast, scrolling through Facebook on her phone with her reading glasses low on her nose. “What are you doing today?”

“Cleaning the house, I suppose,” Anne hums. “Why, did you want to help me?”

“Um, no,” Harry says. “Actually, I was hoping you could take me shopping.”

“Shopping?” Anne says, putting her phone down and sliding her glasses up into her hair. “For?”

“A tux,” Harry says. “I got asked to the prom.”

“The prom!” Anne squeals, clapping her hands. “Oh, how adorable!”

“Yeah,” Harry shrugs. “So I need something to wear. And a bowtie that matches this dress,” he says, sliding his phone across the table to show her the picture Caroline sent this morning.

“Oh, she’s gorgeous,” Anne says, examining the photo. “What’s her name? Are you interested in her?”

“Caroline,” Harry says. “I don’t really know her too well, if I’m honest.”

“Well, I think it’s sweet you’re going to prom with her,” Anne says. “Let me just get ready and we’ll head to the shops.”

“Thanks, mum,” Harry smiles tightly, getting up to make himself some toast while Anne scurries off to her bedroom.

They go to the mall in the next town over, which is so very massive and American and intimidating. They settle for a rather plain tux, something Harry can keep and wear to funerals and such, and they have a sales clerk assist them in finding the right bowtie. Harry couldn’t be less excited for prom, but Anne seems giddy and ecstatic all day, so Harry supposes he might as well start looking forward to it.

He manages not to look at his phone the whole time, but when he gets home he checks to see that he’s got a few snaps from Perrie. He doesn’t open them, just closes the app and ignores the notifications. He stays busy for the rest of the day, finishing all of his homework and pretending he doesn’t see his phone the few times it lights up.

He’s at his locker the next morning, switching out his books for the ones he’ll need during his first few classes, keeping his head down and trying not to look at anyone at all. He feels like everyone knows what happened; that he’s going to prom with someone like Caroline and that all of his friends apparently hate him for it.

“Hey,” says a voice, too close to his ear, and Harry startles and looks up. It’s Perrie, very close to him, looking very worried. “Can I talk to you?”

Harry panics, slams his locker shut without grabbing all the things he actually needs, and bolts.

“Harry!” Perrie calls after him, but Harry can’t speak to her, can hardly even look at her without bursting into tears. He’s not trying to be rude, or evasive, he’s just genuinely devastated about what happened this weekend.

He rushes all the way to his first period and sits down hard, keeping his head firmly down and his eyes glued to his notebook, counting the minutes until the school day will end.

He spends lunch in the library, solely because he doesn’t want to be seen in the cafeteria, especially not by Ed and Perrie. He texts Liam and Niall and they answer almost immediately, because school is over by now in England, and they’re probably together at football practice or wherever they are. Harry aches to be with them, to be at home, to never have come to this fucking country.

He contemplates skipping biology, but in the end he just comes in a few minutes late, which by his standards is still early, but just barely before the bell rings.

Louis is already there, but Harry pays him hardly any mind. He sits down quietly and pulls out his notebook, and it takes a few seconds, but finally Louis speaks up.

“Hey,” he says quietly, nudging Harry gently. Harry sways with the movement, but doesn’t look up. “I’m sorry,” he says, even quieter, ducking down and forward to try and meet Harry’s eyes.

Harry just shrugs, looking away. If he meets Louis’s eyes, he might cry. If he opens his mouth, he’ll definitely cry.

“I know you’re hurt,” Louis says. “I know you ran away from Perrie this morning and that you skipped lunch. And I know why you’re hurt. And I didn’t mean to hurt you, Harry, I really didn’t.”

Harry can feel the lump growing in his throat but he doesn’t move, remains rigidly staring away from Louis.

“If you’d please let me explain myself, I swear I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Louis says. “I wasn’t thinking at all, and I swear I have an explanation.”

Harry just scoffs quietly and shakes his head, looking down at his notebook. He doesn’t care what kind of story Louis has concocted; Louis was pissed at him, and he acted on it, and now Harry’s hurting, he’s right. He doesn’t need to hear about why, he already gets it.

“Alright, I guess I can save it for when you’re willing to listen,” Louis mutters. “But please give me a chance. We’d like for you to come with us back to the waterfront this Friday, because it’s gonna be nice out and it’s a lot of fun there. Please just say you’ll come?”

“I’ll be at prom on Friday,” Harry says, too harshly, more harshly that he anticipated. “So I guess you can go without me. Again.”

Louis blinks, lips parting in surprise. Harry looks up to watch the hurt bloom over Louis’s face, and then it’s Louis’s turn to look down, unable to meet Harry’s eyes. Good, Harry thinks.

They don’t speak again for the rest of class. They both move like they’re made of molasses when the final bell rings, both of them packing up like they have nowhere in the world to be. Maybe they don’t, Harry thinks, if not with each other.

“Hey, Harry,” Caroline says, coming up behind him and rubbing her hand over his back. It’s cold, but Harry doesn’t shiver. “You got your tux and everything?”

“Yeah yesterday,” Harry says, glancing up at her.

“Good,” Caroline grins. “Well, I need some shoes to wear to prom, so I was gonna head to the Kingston mall after school today. You should come with, we can get some ice cream after and hang out, or something,” she says.

Harry looks over at Louis, who’s clenching his jaw at his backpack as he stuffs his notebook into it. He looks like he’s going to cry. Harry almost has it in him to feel bad. “Yeah, sounds great,” he says, looking back at Caroline. 

Caroline blushes softly and Harry, in a swell of bravery, grabs her hand. She blushes a little harder and giggles her quiet, pretty giggle, and then she leads him right out of the classroom with her fingers laced through his.

Louis lets out a shaky little sigh as Harry leaves the room, but Harry doesn’t miss it, doesn’t miss the way he sounds like he’s two seconds from a breakdown.

Caroline leads him all the way to the student parking lot, and Harry does his absolute best not to notice the shocked looks on Perrie, Ed and Stan’s faces as they pass their little huddle on the sidewalk. Caroline drives a baby blue punch buggy and it smells like weed when Harry gets in, keeping his eyes on his own knees for most of the ride to Kingston.

It’s the second time he’s been here in two days, and he hates it today just as much as he did yesterday. Possibly even more, if he’s honest, because Caroline drags him around for the better part of two hours choosing between three pairs of shoes that all look exactly the same to Harry. They get milkshakes after Caroline finally decides on the silver shoes with the little fake diamonds, and they walk around the mall for another entire hour.

Harry’s phone is buzzing almost nonstop in his back pocket, but he’s got one hand occupied by Caroline’s hand and his other hand is still holding a mostly melted milkshake, so he doesn’t look at it until they’re back in Caroline’s car.

_Perrie: What did you do Louis is a mess_

_Perrie: He’s so sorry Harry just let him explain trust me he has so much to say to you_

_Perrie: I’m sorry too btw_

_Perrie: We weren’t hanging out without you on purpose honestly just let louis explain_

_Perrie: Call me please._

Harry makes the executive decision to ignore all of the messages, and all the ones Perrie sends throughout the rest of the day. He doesn’t look at his phone again until Caroline drops him off at home, and finally he decides to spare Perrie some grief and bloody call her back.

She answers on the first ring, unsurprisingly, since she was in the middle of typing another message when Harry opened up the text thread to call her.

“Harry,” she sighs, sounding grateful. 

“What’s up,” Harry says, trying his absolute best to sound apathetic and cool and not like he wants to cry again.

“You need to talk to Louis,” Perrie says. “Please. He has some things he really needs to tell you, and trust me, I wanna tell you myself, but it’s stuff that he has to say.”

“I’m pretty busy this week, actually,” Harry says. “I’ve got plans with Caroline, like, every day. And then, obviously, prom is Friday,” he says, actively trying to make it sting.

Perrie scoffs, and it sounds almost rude, which is so uncharacteristic for Perrie that it catches Harry off guard. “I cannot believe you’re going to prom with her,” Perrie mutters. “After everything she- whatever.”

“What do you have against her?” Harry bites out. “Do you want to fucking clue me in, Perrie, or doesn’t anyone in this fucking friend group want me to happy?”

Perrie whimpers this time, and Harry can picture her flinching at his tone. “Of course we want you to be happy, Harry,” she says, softly and sweetly, but still like she’s biting her tongue about something.

“Well maybe start acting like it,” Harry mutters, pulling the phone away from his ear and ending the call before Perrie can respond. He doesn’t answer when she calls back, just declines it and then switches his phone off.

He opens his laptop and falls into bed, messaging in his group chat on Skype with Liam and Niall a couple dozen times until he realizes it’s almost one in the morning in England, and they’re both probably asleep. 

He goes to the kitchen in defeat to eat whatever leftovers his parents left from dinner, since he told them he was eating with Caroline to excuse why he was out so long with her. He finds some cold spaghetti and meatballs and heats them in the microwave and then throws most of it out, anyway, because he’s not even very hungry and he really just wants to sleep. 

He wants to hear what Louis has to say, frankly. He wants to know what kind of magic words Louis thinks are going to make this all better. But at the same time, he doesn’t want to hear it, because he doesn’t want Louis to change his mind. He made the decision to go to prom with Caroline by himself and he wants to stick with it, doesn’t want to be made to feel stupid or like he can’t trust his own judgement before he has the chance to figure it out for himself.

He falls asleep miserable, yet again, just wishing this stupid week could be over already. 

-

School gets out early on Friday because of prom, which means that all of Harry’s classes are about ten minutes shorter than usual. It seems like a blessing, honestly, because this has been the worst and most awkward week of his entire life and he’s finally heading toward the finish line. He hasn’t spoken a word to anyone all week, and though Louis keeps trying, Harry has been steadily blocking him out. He just has to make it one more day, just through prom, and then he can finally let himself hear what Louis has to say.

His passive and ignorant demeanor doesn’t stop Louis from trying one more time at the end of class on Friday, though, grabbing Harry’s wrist before Harry can flee the classroom.

“Listen,” he says, forcing Harry’s attention on himself. “I know it’s too late to stop you from going to prom, and I honestly don’t even care about that anymore. I literally just want to fucking talk to you, please let me fucking speak to you, Harry,” he says, low and articulate, like every word is taking effort.

“I have to go,” Harry mumbles, trying weakly to pull away. Louis doesn’t let go. “I’m going with Caroline to get her nails done for tonight and then I have to go home and get ready.”

He’s not rude about it, not at all. He’s telling the truth, after all; he really doesn’t want to be late, because he promised Caroline he’d accompany her to the nail salon and he doesn’t want to ruin her prom day before it’s even started. If she takes it half as seriously as Perrie, Harry doesn’t want to be the one to ruin her only shot at it.

Still, anger flashes in Louis’s eyes. He clenches his jaw and smacks the water bottle out of Harry’s hand, making them both jump as it goes sailing across the room. “You’re so fucking stubborn,” Louis breathes, but he lets go of Harry’s wrist like it’s burned him. Harry doesn’t move a muscle. “Just let me talk- please, Harry, just let me explain and maybe then you won’t have to be so pissed off at me and we can fucking get over this,” he pleads.

Harry opens his mouth to cave, can’t resist the pain in Louis’s eyes, but before he can sit back down at the table to let Louis say everything he wants to say while the classroom empties out, Caroline’s skinny fingers slide up and over his shoulder from behind.

“Ready, baby?” she hums, draping her arm over him and leaning her chin over his shoulder. She shoots Louis a rotten glance; Harry can tell by the way Louis’s face hardens again.

“Don’t call him that,” Louis scoffs, shaking his head and turning around to grab his bag off the floor. He seems like he’s given up, like he’s going to let Harry off the hook now that Caroline’s stepped in.

“Why not?” Caroline pouts, sliding her hand down Harry’s chest to rest over his heart. Harry wants to squirm out of her arms, hide behind Louis until she goes away. “You’re my baby, aren’t you, Harry?”

“He’s only going to prom with you because he’s mad at me,” Louis shoots back, before Harry can say anything. 

“That’s not true,” Harry says immediately, mostly to spare Caroline’s feelings. It might be a little bit true, actually, now that he considers it, but Louis has no right to be a dick to Caroline right now. 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Caroline scoffs, sliding her hand back up and into Harry’s hair. Harry wants to melt into the floor, and not in a good way.

“Then why, Harry?” Louis asks, eyes glued on Harry’s, like Caroline and her wandering fingers aren’t even there. “Why are you taking her to prom?”

“Because he likes me,” Caroline sneers, taking a step back and taking Harry with her, like he’s his hostage. Harry briefly remembers his first day at this school, when he did everything in his power to refrain from speaking. Right now, he can’t imagine not wanting to speak.

“That’s fucking hilarious,” Louis sneers right back, but he’s still looking at Harry. Harry tries to argue, for what he isn’t sure, but Caroline huffs and grabs his hand before he can. The next thing he knows she’s dragging him out into the hallway, and when Harry manages to glance back, Louis is staring down at the floor and trying very hard not to break down.

“That kid is such a fucking dick,” Caroline says, sounding absolutely disgusted as she drags him all the way to her car. Harry catches Perrie’s eyes on the way, but she just gives him a sad little frown. “Why do you even hang around with him?”

Harry shrugs, too afraid to speak lest the lump in his throat come tumbling out. He has a feeling that Caroline would pick it up and choke him with it if she got the chance, and he doesn’t want to risk it. He’s floored with sadness, though, tears burning behind his eyes. He’d made Louis cry right there in the classroom, or rather Caroline did, but Harry hadn’t done anything to help him. He doesn’t want to go to prom, doesn’t want to talk to Caroline ever again, just wants to jump out of the car and run back into that school, push past Perrie where she’s already heading back in to find Louis, get to him first and hold him and tell him he’s sorry and let him say everything he’s been trying to say.

He spends the rest of the afternoon in a trance. He watches Caroline get her cuticles pushed back and the very tips of her nails painted white and then he lets her drive him home and he showers and puts on his tux and his bowtie and lets his mum do his hair downstairs in the salon and he lets his parents drive him over to Caroline’s house at 6:00 for pictures, in all of which he smiles because this is still Caroline’s day, after all, and even though she’s ruined it for him, he cannot ruin it for her.

Caroline drives them to the hotel down by the waterfront, where all the other juniors are starting to arrive as well. There are girls everywhere in lovely dresses with lovely updo's and boys in sleek suits with sleek hair and Harry feels so, so out of place, walking into the ballroom with his fingers laced in Caroline’s.

Dinner is buffet style, and Harry hardly eats. Caroline’s friends are loud and rowdy and vulgar and Harry laughs along just to fit in, but inside he’s already composing a script for the phone call to his mum to come get him. 

It gets a bit more fun when they start dancing. Caroline is a bit taller than him flat on her feet but in heels she just about towers over him, but she still presses her back all up against his front and dances on him like they’re in a nightclub and not a room surrounded by their classmates and teachers. Harry thought prom was meant to be a bit classier than this, but if this is what Caroline wants to do, he’s not going to tell her no on her prom night.

They dance like that for a bit, long enough that Harry can mostly just zone out and let her hips guide his while he pretends he’s having fun. It doesn’t turn sour until Caroline’s friend, Harry can’t remember her name, leans into Caroline’s side and whispers in her ear and Caroline stops dancing, turning around with a mischievous grin.

“We’ll be right back, Harry,” she says, stroking her fingertips down his cheek. “Gotta run to the bathroom for a minute.”

“Okay,” Harry shrugs, weaving his way to the edge of the dance floor so he can pull his phone of his pocket while Caroline and the nameless blonde girl in the deep green dress scurry out of the room and down the hall to the restroom.

His phone is lit up with notifications when he gets it out, all of them from either Louis or Perrie. He braces himself before he reads them, turning his back to the crowd so that the lights don’t flash in his eyes.

_Louis: i hope you have fun at prom_

_Louis: i really do i’m not trying to be sarcastic or mean_

_Perrie: Be safe have fun we love you very much Harry!!!!!!!!_

_Louis: you’re important to me and i want you to have a good time_

_Perrie: I hope you’ll tell us all about it soon and we can all sit down and talk!!!!! Love you xox_

_Louis: and i’m sorry that i hurt you and kept hurting you all week_

They’re probably not together, then, since the messages were all sent at odd times and overlap, not at all like they were collaborating. Harry chooses to ignore them, at least for now, shoving his phone back in his pocket and making his way back to the table to wait for Caroline to come back.

The bathroom break ends up taking nearly a half hour, during which Harry grows increasingly more annoyed and regretful for coming here in the first place. He doesn’t guess what’s actually going on, though, not until Caroline comes stumbling back to the table, and he figures he should’ve known all along.

“Sorry,” she giggles, collapsing into the seat next to him. “Got a little distracted. You weren’t lonely here all by yourself, right?” she hums, leaning into his side.

“Not at all,” Harry says through gritted teeth, doing his best to smile down at her convincingly. He doesn’t tell her that she reeks of vodka, or that the scent and taste of alcohol makes him feel sick.

“Good,” she hums, patting his back. She lets her hand travel down his spine and then under his arse, squeezing the handful she gets. Harry jumps and Caroline laughs, turning her face and mouthing at his neck. “Come outside with me. Derek and Brett have nips,” she whispers, her breath tickling unpleasantly at his ear.

“Uh,” Harry mutters, glancing over at him. She looks so hopeful, drunk and hopeful, Harry can’t let her down. And he can’t let her go outside like this by herself, anyway. “Yeah, alright.”

She leads him to the back exit, which has surprisingly little chaperone supervision. Harry wonders if anyone actually cares if there’s underage drinking going on, or if the adults here are as naive as he was up until about five minutes ago.

There’s a small circle of teenagers sitting in the grass, three of them girls, getting their expensive dresses all wet and dirty. Harry wants to stand them up and fix their makeup where it’s running and help them clean up, if only to save them the embarrassment of having this to look back on as their prom experience.

“Caroline!” someone cheers, and then Harry finds himself sitting in the wet grass with a lapful of Caroline. “Have some drinks!”

They’re hardly drinks, Harry thinks, eyeing the tiny bottle that Caroline barely catches when it’s tossed to her. It’s wine, or something, Harry’s not totally sure, and he’s not totally sure about this either but he thinks mixing different drinks like this is probably a bad idea.

He manages to stay quiet and stay out of it until someone notices that he is in fact sitting under Caroline, and then there’s a tiny bottle being pressed into his own hand.

“C’mon, little prince boy,” the girl is giggling. Her hair is red, dark and fiery. Her eyes look evil. “Drink up.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” Harry smiles politely. 

“Why not?” the girl whines, leaning into his side. Caroline melts back against his chest, blinking up at him. 

“I’m fifteen,” Harry says, as way of explanation, handing the bottle back. 

“That’s old enough to drink where you’re from, isn’t it?” some boy asks, frowning over at him. “Australia, right?”

“No, he’s from London,” Caroline says, patting Harry’s knee. “Like, where the queen lives.”

“Uh, actually, I’m from Cheshire,” Harry says. “I’ve never been to London. It’s quite different where I live. The queen actually-”

“That’s interesting, Harry,” Caroline cuts him off, stealing the nip he’s still trying to hand back to the red haired girl. 

“Have you ever met the queen? Or prince Harry? Wait, you’re not prince Harry, right?” says the blonde girl from earlier, eyes wide.

“Uh, no, I’m not,” Harry says. “Like I said, I’ve never actually been to London, which is where the queen lives-”

“How have you never been to London?” Caroline burps, giggling loudly. “You told me that’s where you’re from!”

“Um, no, I didn’t, actually,” Harry frowns. “Cheshire and London are very different regions of-”

“I’m,” Caroline cuts him off, waving a hand in front of his face, “so drunk. I’m _so_ drunk, guys.”

Harry blinks, falling back into his quiet, vegetative state. Everyone chats for a bit and Harry counts the minutes until this will be over, and then Caroline turns around again.

“Harry, honey, have a drink,” she whispers, far too loudly to be any kind of discreet. “You’re being kinda boring.”

“Actually, I’m not feeling so well,” Harry says. “Might be something I ate, I’m gonna run to the restroom.”

“Wimp,” one of the boys mutters, setting the rest of them off into raucous laughter. Caroline giggles along with them loudly, like she doesn’t even care that Harry is right here.

“Seriously, babe,” she says. “Just drink. You’ll feel better.”

“What, are you scared?” a boy says. Harry thinks he remembers him from a picture Caroline showed him, thinks his name is Brett. “Tell me you’ve drank before.”

“I haven’t, actually,” Harry says. This was apparently the worst thing he could’ve said, as everyone bursts into laughter.

“That’s lame as hell,” another boy says. Harry has no idea what his name is, and frankly doesn’t care to know. “Just drink, what the fuck.”

“It’s fun, I promise,” Caroline says. “Stop being a loser, just drink,” she says, somewhat lower, leveling him with an unimpressed look.

“I really don’t feel well,” Harry mutters, pushing Caroline off his lap as gently as he can. He can feel how red his face is, can feel it heating up even more as he stands up and dusts his trousers off, the whole group cackling at him. “I’m gonna head inside.”

Caroline looks mortified, but she’s still laughing, joining in with the rest as soon as Harry turns to bolt back inside. He doesn’t stop, heads straight for the front exit, and finds a bench outside to sit and call his mum.

“Harry?” she answers, sounding worried. “Love, is everything okay?”

“Um,” Harry sighs, a bit shaky. “Can you come get me?”

“I’m on my way,” Anne says immediately, and there’s a tinkling in the background that suggests she’s already grabbing her keys. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes, okay? Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Harry mutters, glancing back at the doors of the hotel, wondering what he’s supposed to do for twenty minutes. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t know why his hands are shaking as he hangs up the phone, why his palms are so sweaty when he rubs them over his thighs. He picks up his phone again and scrolls through the texts from Louis and Perrie, chewing harshly on his lip.

A couple of people start to leave while he’s waiting outside, so he finds himself mostly hiding in a bush to avoid interaction. He’s sure he’s already dead socially, that as soon as word of this starts to spread at school he’ll be just as much of a loser here as he was at South.

Anne shows up in record time, and Harry all but runs for her car. He stays silent as he buckles his seatbelt, hands still trembling a little, until Anne pulls away from the curb and glances over at him.

“What happened, love?” she asks gently, reaching over to pet at his hand. Harry opens his mouth to tell her he just wasn’t having fun, but instead, to both of their surprise, he just sobs.

“Oh, Harry,” Anne panics, squeezing his hand. “Oh, Harry, oh, love.”

“This has been the worst week of my life,” Harry chokes out. “Last weekend Louis and everyone went to dinner and hung out without me and posted pictures of it and I think it’s because they don’t like Caroline but they wouldn’t tell me why they don’t like her so I got angry and went to prom with her and I hate her, mum, she’s so mean and I haven’t talked to my friends all week and tonight Caroline made me hang out with her friends and they were drinking and I didn’t want to and they were being so awful, and so rude, I hate them and I hated the whole night and I want my friends back,” he sobs, wiping at his face. “I don’t know what to do, mum.”

Anne doesn’t say anything for a long moment, glancing in her rearview mirror and flicking her right directional on. She pulls over to the side of the road and puts it in park quickly, reaching over without a word and pulling Harry into a hug.

“I’m proud of you for being able to say no,” she says, petting at his hair. Harry cries into her shoulder for a moment, until finally she pulls away. “But what’s going on with your friends? Are they angry at you? Why didn’t you tell me any of this was happening?”

Harry doesn’t know how to answer her questions, so instead he just breathes a shuddering breath and decides subconsciously to answer a different one.

“Mum, I think I like boys.”

They’re both shocked for a good, long minute. Harry blinks and frowns and Anne just watches him, her face twisting into a gentle smile.

“Oh, honey,” she breathes. “That’s alright, love. That’s perfectly fine. Oh, I’m so proud of you.”

“I didn’t mean to say that,” Harry mutters, but she’s hugging him again and, okay, yeah, it feels right. He likes boys. He really does. Alright, then.

“I love you, Harry,” Anne says, and it sounds like she’s choked up now as well. “No matter what. And I always will.”

Harry hugs her a little tighter, crying into her shoulder for just another moment. He doesn’t say the next thing on his mind, doesn’t turn his face into her neck and say _I like Louis_ the way it’s reverberating inside of his head.

The drive home feels like only seconds, and then Harry’s washing the product out of his hair and changing into his pajamas like he’s in a dream. He grabs for his phone again once he’s in bed, sitting up against the headboard with his covers bundled up over his lap.

He reads through Louis’s texts again, and then Perrie’s. He decides ultimately that he’d rather talk to Perrie right now, because he hasn’t made Perrie cry in the past week and he doesn’t think he can face the person he did make cry and ask for reassurance.

He starts to cry again as he types out the message, but it’s quiet this time, just tears leaking down his cheeks. _Where are you right now?_ is all he says, but Perrie’s answer comes almost immediately.

_Perrie: I’m at home, why?_

_Perrie: Are you okay? Do you need help?_

_Harry: Are you alone? Can I call you please?_

_Perrie: Yes of course_

Harry holds his breath while he hits the call button, squeezing his eyes shut until Perrie answers on the first ring.

“Harry? Are you okay?”

Harry can’t handle the sympathy, sniffles a little into his hand. “Not really,” he whimpers.

“Where are you?” Perrie says immediately, sounding panicked. “What’s wrong? Do you need help?”

“I’m at home,” Harry says, his voice weak and shaky. “I had my mum come pick me up.”

“What happened?” Perrie asks, less urgent this time, more carefully concerned.

Harry tells her everything. He’s sure she’s already talked to Louis about what happened after class this afternoon but he tells her his side anyway, tells her every thought he had and everything he did between leaving school and arriving to the dance. He tells her about not liking Caroline or her friends, about dancing and then getting abandoned for half an hour, and then about Caroline’s friends trying to pressure him into drinking. He tells her he’s not even sure why he was so adamant about not drinking, but that he just knew it would be a mistake, and that he’s already made enough mistakes for a lifetime in the past week.

“And I’m sorry,” he concludes, still sniffling like a baby, “for everything. For not listening. For talking to Caroline in the first place.”

“Oh, Harry,” Perrie sighs. “I’m so sorry. That’s complete bullshit.”

“You were right,” Harry says, sobbing a little. “I shouldn’t have gone.”

“That wasn’t our decision to make,” Perrie says softly. 

“I know, but you were trying to help me,” Harry says. “And I just ignored all of you.”

“Hey, calm down,” Perrie soothes. Harry imagines that if she were here, she’d be rubbing his back like a mother. “You’re alright, Harry, breathe.”

Harry does, breathe that is, until he has himself mostly under control. “Sorry,” he mutters again.

“You need to talk to Louis,” Perrie says. “There’s so much you need to know, and you need to hear it from him.”

“I will,” Harry says. “I want to. He doesn’t hate me, right?”

“Far from it,” Perrie chuckles. “Can you meet us at the diner tomorrow? Louis’s not working, so he’ll have time to just sit and talk,” she says.

“I’ll be there,” Harry nods. “Of course.”

“Good,” Perrie sighs, like this is the greatest relief she could imagine. “It’ll just be the three of us, but I’m going to leave you alone with him to talk, alright? It’s not my place to sit in on this conversation. Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Yeah, that’s fine. Thank you.”

“Okay, Hazza,” Perrie says, sounding like she’s smiling. “Get some sleep, bub, you’re alright.”

“Wait, Perrie,” Harry says, squeezing his eyes shut again.

“Yes?” Perrie hums.

“Can I ask you something?” Harry asks.

“Of course,” Perrie says.

Harry’s breathless suddenly, no air available in his lungs with which to say what’s on his mind. Finally he figures out how to breathe, and he goes for it. “How did you realize you were gay?”

Perrie pauses for a long, long moment, long enough that Harry almost doesn’t think she;s going to answer. Finally, though, he hears her breathe, like she was trying to learn again, too. “Honestly, I don’t think I ever had a moment of realization. There was just, you know, a person who I found myself falling in love with, and that person happened to be a girl. And, at least for now, I can’t picture myself without her,” she says softly.

“That’s lovely,” Harry smiles, closing his eyes. “That’s so lovely, Pez.”

“Thank you,” Perrie says, her voice so, so soft and gentle. Neither of them say anything for a moment, and Perrie doesn’t ask any questions, though Harry finds himself wishing she would.

“Perrie?” he says again, opening his eyes and peering into the dark of his room.

“Yes?” Perrie whispers, like she knows what he’s going to say already and she’s on the edge of her seat.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, disappointment sinking in his stomach because he couldn’t say it, apparently once today was too much.

Perrie is quiet for another moment. “It’s okay, Harry,” she says, knowingly. “It really is. Trust me.”

“I should go,” Harry mumbles, shaking his head at himself. 

“Okay,” Perrie says. “Get some sleep. I love you.”

“Thank you, Perrie,” Harry says, awfully sincere. “I love you too.”

He hangs up first, dropping his phone on his bedside table and squishing his face into his pillow. “I like boys,” he tells the pillowcase, squeezing his eyes shut. “I like boys. I like Louis.”

He falls asleep after that, somehow. He sleeps like a log, like all the energy has just been zapped from his body, and it’s the most restful night’s sleep he’s ever gotten.

-

Perrie never gave Harry a time to meet at the diner, so when he wakes up, he takes his time getting ready. His tux is still in a wrinkled mess on the floor where he left it last night and he supposes his mum will probably scold him for it later, but he can’t be bothered to pick it up. He pulls on some jeans and a t-shirt and fluffs his hair a little in the mirror, and then drags himself to the kitchen where his mum is eating her breakfast.

“Hey,” he says, sitting down next to her and leaning heavy against her side. She sways with the movement and wraps her arm around him, holding her toast with her free hand.

“Good morning, love,” she hums, kissing his head. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah, actually,” Harry says. “I talked to Perrie before I went to sleep.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Anne says. “How did it go?”

“I’m meeting her and Louis to talk today,” he says. “Perrie says everything’s gonna be fine, and I’m choosing to believe her.”

“I’m sure everything will be fine,” Anne agrees. “Do you want a ride there?”

“No, gonna take my bike,” Harry says. “Want some time to think before I get there.”

“Alright, well, let me know how it goes,” Anne says, pulling him close once more before he gets up and pressing a long kiss to his forehead. “I’m still proud of you, Hazza.”

“Thanks,” Harry smiles, blushing softly. “I’ll see you later, mum.”

Anne gives him one last encouraging smile and then Harry shuffles away, down the steps and out the front door to where his bike is leaning against the wall under the living room window. He puts one headphone in his ear and sticks his phone in his pocket, his Spotify library on shuffle as he pushes out of the driveway and heads towards Ellisville. 

The sky is dark and overcast, and Harry thinks it might rain today, but probably not anytime soon. His music is pretty loud in his right ear but he mostly tunes it out, envisioning over and over again how this talk is going to go. He has genuinely no idea what Louis is going to say to him or how he’s going to explain what happened last week, but he’s awfully excited to have his friends back.

It takes him just under an hour to get to the diner. It’s a pretty long ride to begin with, but he’s riding slow, too, paying more attention to his thoughts than how fast his feet are pushing the pedals. He doesn’t even know if Louis and Perrie will be there yet when he gets there, but as soon as he rounds the bend on Destiny street and the diner comes into view, he sees their bikes out front. He would recognize those bikes anywhere; Louis’s bike is shiny blue, with those obnoxious pegs on the back tire and a basket on the front that he claims he likes to put in a stereo in during the summer. Perrie’s bike is white with pastel purple duct tape over some parts like tiger stripes, and she’s got a little Minnie Mouse plushie strapped to the front of the handle bars.

Harry parks his plain silver bike beside theirs, wondering if he should decorate it like theirs. They got it at the swap shop at the dump, all banged up and rusty in some spots. He supposes he could put stickers over the ugly parts, maybe some of the bands he likes, or something.

Louis and Perrie are in their booth in the back corner when Harry walks in, Louis facing away from the door on the side of the booth he usually shares with Harry and Perrie. Perrie spots him first, from the other side of the booth, and jumps up to run to him.

She wraps her arms around him before Harry even knows what’s happening, but Harry hugs her back instantly. He pushes his face into her neck and Perrie squeezes him tight, swaying back and forth a bit. She lets him decide when to let go, doesn’t pull away until he does.

“I told him you called, but I didn’t tell him what you said,” she says quietly. “I just told him you sounded upset, and he’s so worried. But I didn’t want to tell him the story, because it’s not mine to tell. Do you want me to come over to the table with you?”

“No, that’s alright,” Harry sighs, rubbing his sweaty palms over his thighs. “I’ll just get it over with.”

Perrie gives him a smile and another hug, murmuring close to his ear, “I’m proud of you.”

Harry pulls away and gives her a tight smile, and then Perrie walks over to the bar and hoists herself up into a seat, probably to order a milkshake. Harry takes a deep breath and then walks over to the booth, finding Louis wringing his hands in his lap.

“Hi,” Louis says, watching him closely as Harry sits down. “Perrie called me last night after she hung up with you. She didn’t tell me what you said to her, though, at all, she just said you were upset. Please just tell me you’re okay,” he says, chewing on his lip, hands twitching like he wants to reach for Harry.

“I’m fine,” Harry says quietly. “I left before anything bad could happen.”

Louis doesn’t look appeased, though, laying his hands flat on the table. “What happened?”

“I felt like shit all day,” Harry admits, “because I know Caroline and I made you cry at the end of class. And I really never wanted to go to prom at all, especially not with her, but I only told her yes after I saw that snap of you all hanging out without me. I was angry, and sad, so I texted her and told her I would go to prom with her. And then I spent the whole week with her, and started really hating her. She’s awful, you know? And on top of it, I didn’t want to talk to you or anyone, because I made the decision to go to prom and I knew that if I let myself talk to you, I would let you talk me out of going. So I just avoided you. Anyway, I was miserable the whole day yesterday, and then we got to prom and Caroline’s friends are rude and annoying and then Caroline abandoned me for, like, half an hour to go get drunk in the bathroom and then brought me outside to keep drinking with her friends in the courtyard. They were mean to me, Louis, they were so mean and I told them I didn’t want to drink and that I’d never drunk before and they laughed at me and- I left before they could pressure me or be truly mean, but I felt horrible. So I went and called my mum and she came and got me, and I haven’t heard from Caroline since.”

Louis looks disappointed for him when Harry looks up, but he doesn’t look shocked in the slightest. “Yeah, I know I did a poor job of warning you, but Caroline’s got a pretty shitty reputation,” he shrugs. “I know a lot of people talk and blow things out of proportion, but I do happen to know she’s bad news.”

“Yeah, I found that out for myself,” Harry chuckles dryly, picking up a napkin from the dispenser and pulling at it distractedly, just for something to do with his hands.

“I should have done better warning you,” Louis sighs, rubbing at his face.

“Well, that’s not your job,” Harry shrugs. “I didn’t want to talk to you about it because I didn’t want you to warn me, I kinda _wanted_ to find out for myself. Sometimes people just have to make their own mistakes,” he says, giving Louis a tired little half smile.

“Do you regret it?” Louis asks, picking up one of the shreds Harry’s torn from his napkin and rolling it into a ball.

“No,” Harry decides. “I definitely did last night, but I don’t think I do now. I don’t regret having gone now because I think I learned a lot about some things,” he says. 

Louis watches him for a second, fingers white where he’s squeezing his little napkin ball. “Okay, listen, I can’t wait another fucking second. Please let me tell you what happened last weekend and what’s been going on with me,” he says. “I can’t stand being so sad and anxious and seeing you the same way.”

“Yeah, please go on,” Harry says, putting his napkin down and watching Louis’s face.

“Okay, so, I know you know I’m gay,” Louis says, pushing the words out like he’s forcing them. Harry does his best not to flinch. “And I know I have a pretty bad reputation too, and I hope you’ve been able to figure out that those things aren’t true. Yeah, I’ve done some things to garner those rumors but like- okay, basically when I was in eighth grade this high school junior, Brett, was trying to get me to sleep with him and I refused so he went and told everyone that I begged him to let me blow him and that I was a slut and gagging for it and all these things that weren’t true, and it got around the whole school and the whole eighth grade and everyone believed it, and, yeah, wasn’t cool. Anyway, that’s a different story. I got pissed off when Caroline asked you to prom because, well, for one thing, she’s friends with the guy that started those rumors, and she’s also just a cunt in general. And, okay, shit, maybe I also have a little bit of a thing for you but, like, low key, but- I don’t know, yeah, I’m into you and she asked you to prom and you seemed into it, or at least into the attention, which is understandable because, like, she’s pretty and popular and you didn’t know about her. But that, like, kinda pissed me off because she’s a horrible person and you’re absolutely lovely and, like, I wanted you all to myself, for obvious reasons, but that’s selfish and unreasonable and horrible and I’m sorry for feeling that way. Anyway, I was angry and upset and jealous and I didn’t want to look at you or talk to you because I was afraid you would be able to tell so I just ran from you and I just wanted to talk to Perrie about it because Perrie is so good at talking about things and I knew she would know what to do and I felt so bad because I knew you were confused and hurt but I couldn’t talk to you without spilling my guts to you like I am right now, so I just didn’t. And then the next day Perrie texted me and said we should all go to the waterfront because it was nice out and we should get the group together and, I’m awful, I asked if we could maybe not invite you because I wanted to talk to everyone about what happened so they could tell me I was being ridiculous and also so that we could maybe find a way to tell you about Caroline, so we went to dinner and we talked and I started to feel better and I fucked up, I posted that snap without even thinking about the fact that you would see it and then Stan opened the snap you sent first and he was like ‘what the fuck Louis, did you post that’ and I was like _shit_ so I took it down and I felt so horrible, I still do. And then you wouldn’t look at or speak to any of us and I knew you were so, so hurt and I just wanted to explain myself and then you told me you were actually gonna go to prom and my heart broke, Harry, it really did, and I couldn’t tell you then because I just wanted to cry. And then you kept ignoring us and I wanted so badly to talk to you about everything but I knew you were hurt because of me- but, basically, I just wanted to say I’m sorry for the way I acted, and I’m sorry that I hurt you. I didn’t mean for you to be hurt by the fact that we went out without you, or to even find out, actually, but I’m sorry that I fucked up. It’s just that I’m kinda in- well, I like you, kinda, a lot, and I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable and this is a lot to take in all once but, yeah, I’m sorry,” he finishes quietly, staring down at his lap.

Harry watches him for a few minutes, heart speeding out of control, brain stunned into silence. He fish mouths for a moment, thankful that Louis isn’t looking at him, and then finally croaks out a response. “I was fucking devastated when I thought you were all hanging out without me. It felt like I had finally made friends, and they were already abandoning me. But I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you sooner, because I think we’ve both been doing a lot of unnecessary hurting for two people who really have nothing to hurt over,” he admits.

Louis looks up, finally, frowning. Harry takes a deep breath and now it’s his turn to look down, tangling his fingers together in his lap. “I don’t regret going to prom, though, because I did learn a couple things. For one, I realized I never want to have friends that aren’t you guys, two, I never want to go to a party that isn’t a musical marathon, and, three, I never want to date another girl for the rest of my life.”

Louis flinches at the last bit, lips parting a little. He looks like he wants to say something, but Harry isn’t quite finished yet. 

“Yeah, I’ve been pretty clueless, I think,” Harry chuckles. “I haven’t really been thinking about it as much as I should, and it took me a really long while to figure out what should have been obvious the whole time, and even longer to come to terms with it, but yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m gay. And I’m also kinda in- well, I like you, kinda, a lot,” he says, echoing word for word what Louis said a moment ago.

Louis’s beaming when Harry looks up at him, practically vibrating in his seat. “Wait, are you serious?”

Harry nods, and Louis’s hands curl into fists, pressing against his chest.

“You like me back?”

Harry nods again.

“So we both like each other? And everything is okay? We’re done hurting each other?”

Harry nods yet again, a smile spreading across his face. 

“Can you speak?” Louis breathes. “I feel like we’re back to when you first transferred.”

Harry laughs, blushing a little. “Sorry. I feel like if I speak I’m gonna say something embarrassing, like ‘kiss me, you fool.’”

“Why wouldn’t you want to say that?” Louis asks, leaning forward a little, like he can’t help it, like he’s instinctively drawn to Harry. 

“I don’t know, should I say it?”

“I don’t know,” Louis grins, “try it.”

“Alright,” Harry hums. “Kiss me, you fool.”

Louis lunges, literally throws himself across the table and kisses Harry hard, fist curled in Harry’s t-shirt. Harry’s a bit shocked but he kisses back immediately, hands curling around Louis’s wrists.

There’s a high pitched squeal from somewhere in the diner, specifically the bar, and they break apart laughing. Harry looks over Louis’s shoulder to see Perrie dancing in her seat at the bar, pumping her fists into the air.

Louis doesn’t turn around to look, though, stays hovering close to Harry’s face. “So, would you like to go on a date with me sometime, then?”

“I would absolutely love that,” Harry says, holding Louis’s wrist a bit tighter, like he’s never planning on letting go.

“How about right now?” Louis asks, cocking his head and grinning mischievously.

“What about Perrie?” Harry says, eyeing her watching them closely.

“Trust me,” Louis rolls his eyes, “Perrie wanted this to happen more than both of us combined,” he says.

Harry laughs, pecking Louis’s lips again because Louis is so close, he can’t help himself. “Let’s go, then.”

They finally pull apart and gather their things, sliding out of the booth. Perrie comes running over, dragging them both into a hug, bouncing excitedly. “Go, get out of here, you crazy kids,” she giggles, clapping her hands a few times when she releases them. “I’m so fucking hype to hear all about it later.”

“Thanks, Pez,” Louis grins, pecking her cheek and pulling his jacket on. Harry pecks her other cheek, just for good measure, and she throws her arms around him like she can’t help herself.

“Oh, I’m so happy,” she hums, waving them off and plopping down in the booth by herself, watching them go with her chin propped in her hand.

-

Against their better judgement, they go to the waterfront. It takes absolutely ages to get there, especially on the backroads, but they ride slow and chat the whole time, laughing and blushing and flirting the whole way.

By the time they get to the jetty, the sky is darkening like it’s going to storm. Still, Louis insists they walk the jetty, because if the storm starts over the ocean they can watch it for a few minutes on the furthest rock.

There’s graffiti on most of the rocks, and Louis shows Harry all his favorite ones and all the funniest, like random phone numbers and Instagram usernames. He grabs Harry’s hand somewhere around the middle of the jetty and Harry nearly falls between two rocks in surprise, but he laces Louis’s fingers with his own somewhat smoothly and neither of them mention it.

It takes about twenty minutes to get to the last rock. They sit down together on it, looking out over the ocean and the stormy horizon, their hands still locked between them. It seems like it goes on forever, the gray of the water meeting the gray of the sky somewhere Harry thinks it’s impossible to get to.

“Can you almost see England from here?” Louis asks, nudging Harry’s shoulder with his own.

Harry laughs, shaking his head. “Just about,” he hums.

The wind blows, ruffling both of their hair and blowing Louis’s jacket open. He hugs it closed and Harry holds out his arm, letting Louis tuck himself under it. Harry’s only in a t-shirt, but with Louis so close to him, he feels like he’s burning up.

“Tell me about your home,” Louis says, resting his head in the crook of his neck.

“Well,” Harry considers, thinking for a moment about Holmes Chapel. “It’s always rainy and kinda cold, and there’s nothing to do ever, no matter the season. My village is absolutely tiny and pretty useless but my heart still aches when I think about it, and I miss it so much I could cry.”

Louis frowns, turning to look up at him. “Would you rather be there?” he asks, quiet, like he doesn’t want to know the answer.

Harry sighs, squinting at the horizon. “If you asked me that six months ago, I would have said yes, without question. But now, I can’t remember what it is that I miss so much that isn’t here,” he says, squeezing Louis’s shoulders for emphasis.

Louis smiles, blushing as he looks back down. “Tell me about your friends,” Louis says. “What were they like?”

“There were less than 100 students in my graduating class, and I had two friends in total. Liam and Niall. We liked to play video games, a lot, and football when the weather was nice.”

“Soccer, you mean?” Louis asks.

“Yeah, soccer. Only Niall was on the team at school, though, because he’s the only one that was any good, until he fucked up his knee and had to get surgery. He just plays for fun, these days,” he says. 

“That sucks,” Louis says.

“Yeah. And Liam was super smart, always had top scores in class, was always tutoring me and Niall after school. We spent a lot of time in the field behind Liam’s house; he’d bring us home to help us study, and then we’d go out back and play footy for a bit if it was nice, or we’d stay in and play video games. They’re really great, both of them. You’d love them, I think. They’d fit in with our friends,” he says.

“Do you still talk to them?” Louis asks, looking up at him.

“Yeah, all the time. We text every day, and Skype when we can,” Harry says.

“I want to meet them,” Louis says. “They sound cool.”

“We can Skype them someday,” Harry says, peering down at him. Louis smiles at him and Harry leans in, pressing his lips to the curve of Louis’s own.

They make out like that for a while, longer than they should, until Louis is shivering in Harry’s arms and Harry can’t continue to warm him up by rubbing his back. He pulls away, blinking down at Louis, and Louis’s teeth chatter a bit.

“Let’s go get some food,” Harry suggests, rubbing his hands up and down Louis’s arms now. “Somewhere indoors.”

“Yeah, okay,” Louis chuckles. “Mamma Mia’s is just across the street?”

“Perfect,” Harry hums, taking his hand again and letting Louis lead him back down the jetty.

It’s slightly warmer inside the restaurant, but without the wind, Louis stops shivering pretty quickly. They sit at a table by the window and order a cheese pizza to split between them, and two Cokes while they wait.

The table is quite small and Louis is quite squirmy, so when Louis fidgets in his seat, he accidentally kicks Harry right in the shin. Harry pouts at him and Louis giggles, kicking him again more playfully and earning himself a light tap in return. 

The game goes on after their pizza comes, when Louis fidgets again and catches Harry’s knee quite hard. Harry whines and kicks out in return, but instead of hitting Louis’s leg he hits the leg of the table, sending the whole thing wobbling nearly over. He manages to grab the edge of the table in time to keep it up right, but Louis’s soda isn’t so lucky, tipping all over Louis’s lap and the floor.

Louis bursts out laughing, before Harry can even apologize or grab some napkins to clean him up. Harry ends up mopping the soda off of his lap, a disgruntled waitress throwing some rags down over the wet carpet, Louis still laughing so hard he can’t even help. He’s still giggling when the mess is mostly clean, which means Harry is giggling too as he sits back down.

Harry watches him laugh, his heart swelling about thirteen sizes as he realizes that Louis is his, all this is his and he’s never going to give it up. He doesn’t know how he didn’t realize it before; he’s absolutely arse over teakettle for this boy, and he thinks he always has been.

They get back to their bikes before it starts raining, but they don’t get far before it’s absolutely downpouring, soaking both of them in seconds. Harry shrieks and Louis laughs, looking wet and cold and gorgeous.

“Come back to my house, it’s closer!” he calls over the rain. “My mom can drive you home!”

Harry nods, and then they’re off, racing down the street. Louis leads the way, of course, and it takes nearly an hour, but finally they turn into a driveway and run up the front walkway.

The door opens before they get to it, Louis’s mum looking panicked. “Come in, come in!” she ushers, closing the door behind them. “I was getting worried, where were you?”

“At the waterfront,” Louis shivers, kicking his shoes off by the door. Harry does the same, giving Louis’s mum a grateful smile. “Mom, this is Harry.”

“Oh, Harry,” Louis’s mum grins, turning to face him. “The famous Harry, huh? I’ve heard so much about you, it’s nice to finally meet you. You can call me Jay”

Harry blushes a bit, glancing at Louis. “Nice to meet you, as well,” he says, giving Jay his warmest smile.

“It’s chill, tomato boy,” Louis giggles. “I talk about you literally all the time. I tell my mom everything,” he shrugs.

“That’s sweet,” Harry says, getting a bit distracted by the way Louis’s eyes are twinkling at him.

“I’m glad you’ve worked things out,” Jay says, looking between them. 

Harry grins, and Louis presses a kiss to his cheek. “We’ve more than worked things out, I think,” he says quietly, watching Harry fondly.

Jay squeals, doing a happy little dance right there in the front hall. “Oh, I’m so glad!” she cheers, wrapping them both up in a hug, despite the fact they’re still dripping wet. 

Harry blushes a little harder, beaming at Louis. He’s shivering, he thinks, but he doesn’t feel cold, feels like he’s standing in a field of flowers on a sunny day.

“Well, I can’t let you go home like that,” Jay says, rubbing Harry’s shoulder. “You’ll catch pneumonia. Lou, let him use our shower, okay?”

“Yeah,” Louis hums, taking Harry’s hand to pull him up the stairs. Harry looks around a little as they go, seeing that most of the first floor is just the kitchen and the den, open as one room. There are only four bedrooms upstairs, and Louis pulls him into the one at the furthest end of the hall. “This is my room,” he says, leading Harry inside. “The others are my parents’, obviously, and then my sisters Lottie and Fizzy share a room and Phoebe and Daisy share the other,” he explains.

“It’s cozy,” Harry says, standing by the door as Louis digs through his dresser. It’s not a huge house, especially not for the amount of people living in it, but it’s warm and lovely and decorated beautifully.

“Thanks,” Louis grins, handing over a pile of clothes. Harry smiles gratefully, shivering a little more as Louis leads him back down the hall to the bathroom.

“You can use whatever’s in there,” Louis says. “I’ll just be in my room when you’re finished.”

“Thank you,” Harry hums, watching Louis shut the door on his way out. He turns the water on hot and strips out of his clothes, standing in the shower for only as long as it takes to warm up before he turns the water off again and gets out. He gets dressed in Louis’s warm joggers and jumper, bringing his sopping wet clothes back to Louis’s room.

Louis’s lounging on his bed in clean clothes, and he appears to have dried his hair, as well. He looks so cozy Harry just wants to snuggle him, but Louis gets up before he can.

“I’ll go throw those in the dryer,” he says, taking Harry’s clothes. “You can stay here.”

Harry sits down on the edge of Louis’s bed, looking around the room. There are framed photos everywhere, most of them of Louis and Perrie, and a bunch with the other boys as well. There’s even a photo with Harry, from back in March when they went to the Script concert together. Harry smiles at it, getting up to examine it until Louis comes back.

“That photo makes me so happy,” Louis says, startling Harry from the doorway. “That was such a good day. Wanted to hold your hand the whole time.”

Harry turns around and smiles at him, walking over to grab Louis’s hips and pull him close. “You can hold my hand whenever you want,” Harry says. “But right now I think I’d rather kiss you, if that’s alright?”

“Mm, that’s alright,” Louis grins, kicking the door shut and wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck. 

Harry leans in and catches his lips gently, sliding his hands around to lock behind Louis’s back. Louis turns them around and backs Harry to the bed, sitting down in his lap and licking into his mouth.

They don’t do more than kiss, of course, but by the time they finally break apart, Harry is pleasantly breathless and much more than a little in love with Louis.

Harry’s phone goes off from somewhere and they search for a moment until they find it on the floor under Louis’s bed, somehow having gotten dropped there. There’s two texts from his mum, only a few moments between them.

_Mum: where are you_

_Mum: did you die?_

Harry laughs, shaking his head. _Sorry, got caught in the rain. I’m at Louis’s house, coming home soon._

“I should get going,” Harry tells Louis, looking up at him from where he’s sitting on the floor. “Mum thinks I’ve died.”

Louis pouts at him, reaching down for his hand. “But I’ll miss you,” he says.

“We can text all night,” Harry promises, letting Louis help him up. “And I’ll see you at school the day after tomorrow.”

“Alright, fine,” Louis sighs. “Plus, we’ll have to see each other so we can return our clothes,” Louis says, pulling at the jumper Harry’s wearing.

“No way, I’m keeping this,” Harry says. “It’s cozy, and it smells like you.”

Louis grins, curling forward into Harry’s chest and hugging him close. “Hey,” he says, mumbling into the front of the jumper.

“Hey,” Harry hums in return, holding him close. 

“I kinda love you, a little,” Louis says, squeezing his eyes shut. “Maybe a lot.”

Harry beams, burying his face in Louis’s hair. “I kinda love you a little, maybe a lot, too.”

Louis laughs, digging his chin into Harry’s sternum when he looks up at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry hums, pecking his lips. “Like, more of a lot than a little, I think. More like a whole lot,” he admits.

“Yeah,” Louis says. “Me too.”

They find Louis’s mum in the den, curled up in an armchair reading a book. Louis asks her sweetly to gives Harry a ride home and she jumps up, and then the three of them dash out the front door and to the car in record time.

“So Harry,” Jay asks, as they’re pulling out of the driveway. Harry’s in the backseat, Louis in the front but turned to the side so he can see Harry without turning around. “Where in England are you from?”

“Holmes Chapel,” Harry says. “In Cheshire. It’s a bit north of London,” he says.

“Oh, I could listen to your accent all day,” Jay sighs. “You must get that a lot.”

“Sometimes,” Harry giggles, looking at Louis. “It can come in quite handy.”

“Mom, did you know the kids at Harry’s old school bullied him for his accent? That’s why he switched to North,” Louis says, watching Harry with sad eyes, suddenly.

“That’s ridiculous,” Jay says. “How could anyone not love an accent like that?”

“That’s what I’m wondering,” Louis says, reaching back for Harry’s hand. Harry grins and takes it, squeezing Louis’s fingers.

“Some people are just awful,” Harry shrugs. “But I seem to have found some that aren’t,” he says.

Louis winks at him and Harry blushes, watching out the window for a bit.

Jay keeps making small talk, probably just to hear his accent, Harry suspects. It’s not a terribly long drive to Harry’s house, and when they pull into his driveway, Harry makes a show of taking Jay’s hand and kissing it like a true posh gentleman. Jay swoons, giggling like a schoolgirl, and Louis thrusts his hand out for Harry to kiss as well. Harry obliges, locking eyes with Louis as he kisses his hand, grinning as he pulls away.

“Thank you for the ride, Jay,” he says, opening the door and stepping out.

“You’re ever so welcome, Harry, anytime,” Jay calls. It’s not raining quite as hard anymore when Harry gets his bike out of the trunk, leaving it against the wall under the window and then letting himself inside.

He sits down to dinner with his parents, still wearing Louis’s clothes, and Harry tells them everything, how he and Louis made up and how they might be dating now, sorta, kinda.

Anne is thrilled, and Harry’s dad is surprised, but supportive. Harry heads to his room after dinner still smiling, plopping down and pulling out his phone. There’s a text from Louis from seemingly right after he dropped Harry off, and Harry opens it quickly.

_Louis: think my mom is gonna try and steal u from me_

Harry laughs, tapping out his immediate response. _I’m all yours, love xx_

_Louis: swoon_

_Louis: so like, ur my boyfriend now right_

_Louis: like can i call you that_

_Harry: Yes please_

_Louis: good !!!_

_Louis: perrie has probably already told the entirety of Massachusetts lol_

_Harry: That’s alright with me :D_

_Louis: ;p_

_Harry: I’m just happy you’re mine tbh_

_Louis: SWOON_

They do end up texting all night, or at least until Harry falls asleep with his phone in his hand. He falls asleep smiling, not for the first time, but for the first time in a long while.

-

The last day of school ends up being a Wednesday, once all the snow days are made up. Louis isn’t working, but they go to the diner anyway. They all squish into their little booth and order a celebratory lemonade to go along with their fries, clinking their glasses for a cheers when the waitress brings them over.

“Here’s to making it through freshman year,” Stan toasts, glancing around the table proudly, “with only a few bumps and bruises.”

“Here’s to another year of friendship, and new friendships, as well,” Perrie adds, nudging Harry’s shoulder.

“Here’s to learning so much more about ourselves and each other than high school could ever teach us,” Ed says.

“Here’s to you, Harry, and the wonderful series of coincidences that led you to us,” Louis says, looping his arm through Harry’s where it’s resting on the table.

“Here’s to all of you,” Harry says, quietly, sincerely, “for taking me in and saving me.”

Everyone’s beaming when Harry looks up, and he locks eyes with Louis as they all take a sip of their drinks. Louis looks fond, maybe more fond than Harry’s ever seen him, and Harry’s chest is thick with emotion.

He’s leaving Plymouth tomorrow morning to go back to England. Louis’s gonna sleep over tonight, and when they wake up, they’re gonna drive Louis home and then drive all the way into Boston to get on a plane and go home. Harry feels like it’s the end of the world, even more so than when he came here in the first place.

Sure, it’s only for two weeks so they can visit everyone and have a bit of a holiday. But leaving his boyfriend is the last thing Harry wants to do. 

It’s just that everything is changing. Harry’s going to come back in two weeks to a completely different Plymouth. Stan’s leaving for most of the summer to join a traveling soccer team, and he’ll only be home a couple weekends at a time. Perrie is leaving a week to the day after Harry to go to Nantucket for the whole summer, and they’ll hardly see her either. Ed is planning to spend most of his time in the city, playing street corners and the sidewalk at Faneuil Hall, hoping to make some money and maybe even get discovered, or something. Louis will be the same old Louis, still working at the diner and spending his tips on slushies at Cumberland Farms. Harry’s going to miss them all dearly, and he can’t imagine not seeing them all every day.

They’re really growing up. Everyone’s getting busy, and this is only the beginning. Sure, everything will go back to normal in the fall, but they can only count on that for a few years before they all go their separate ways for college.

Louis bites at his shoulder to get his attention, and Harry gives him a small smile as if to say . Louis knows Harry’s been getting sentimental the past few days, and even though Louis agrees with him, he’s been doing his best to keep things positive.

They finish their fries with some light banter, and when they all get up to leave, Perrie initiates a group hug that lasts much, much longer than it should. Harry finds himself stifling tears, but everyone pretends not to notice.

“Have an amazing time at home, Harry,” Perrie says, giving him one last hug as they walk out to their bikes. “Don’t forget about us, okay?”

“I could never,” Harry assures her, squeezing her tight. “Don’t forget about me, either.”

“Louis won’t let us, I’m sure,” Stan says, earning himself a light swat from Louis. “Not that we would, anyway.”

Harry grins, pulling Louis against his side. “I’ll see you guys later, then,” he says, and Louis hugs him close as everyone gets on their bikes and rides off in their separate directions.

“I’m still coming back to yours, yeah?” Louis hums, chin digging into Harry’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Harry says. “You can help me pack.”

It’s a long ride back to Harry’s house, but the gentle banter has him feeling almost better by the time they get there. Harry’s a little sweaty and Louis is, too, but the cool air inside the house feels lovely when they step inside.

“Louis!” Anne calls from somewhere in the house, and then she comes bounding up the stairs from the salon. “How are you, love?”

“Good to see you, mum,” Harry mumbles, kicking off his shoes while Anne pulls Louis into a warm hug. “Last day of school was great, mum.”

“Oh, quit it, mumbles,” Anne rolls her eyes, releasing Louis to give Harry a little swat on the chest. “Are you boys hungry? Want some snacks?”

“We just had some snacks at the diner, but thank you, Mrs. Styles,” Louis assures, giving her the dreamy smile Anne always swoons over as soon as he’s gone. 

“I’ve told you, love, call me Anne. Or mum,” she says. “That’s what Harry’s other friends always called me. If I allowed it from them, I’ll absolutely allow it from you,” she winks. Harry hides his face.

“Thanks, mum,” Louis giggles, pushing against Harry’s side.

“Right, well, I’ve just left Mrs. Bloom in the chair, so I should get back,” Anne says. “Harry, honey, please finish packing.”

“Okay,” Harry says, grabbing Louis’s hand and dragging him up the stairs and down the hall to his room.

“I love your mom so much,” Louis says, plopping down on Harry’s bed while Harry digs through his closet. “Think I might miss her more than I miss you.”

“Mm, tell that to the thirty texts I woke up to this morning about how you just wanted to kiss me so badly at three am,” Harry teases, finding his suitcase and pulling it out to place on the bed, throwing open the top.

“Uncalled for,” Louis pouts. “Okay, I lied. I’ll miss you way more. Always wanna kiss you,” Louis says, making grabby hands up at Harry.

Harry grins, leaning in to kiss Louis quickly. Louis grabs hold of his shirt, though, pulling him down, until they’re lying sideways across Harry’s bed and Harry can’t find it in himself to get up.

“You should be packing,” Louis mumbles against his lips, but only after they’ve been kissing for far, far too long.

“Shut up,” Harry chuckles, pulling away and leaving Louis with one last peck. “You’re the worst helper ever.”

Louis is quiet as Harry goes back to the closet, pulling all of his favorite shirts off their hangers to pack away. “Here,” Louis says after a moment. “I’ve just packed everything you need.”

Harry turns around to find Louis sitting in his suitcase. He looks adorable, curled up like a little kitten, blinking up at Harry through his fringe.

Harry, against his will, bursts into tears. Louis has the decency to try and hide his fond smile, climbing out of the suitcase and shuffling over to wrap Harry up in his arms.

“Shh,” Louis soothes, rubbing his hand up and down Harry’s spine. “It’s only two weeks.”

“I’m gonna miss you, though,” Harry whimpers, dropping all of the shirts in favor of pulling Louis into his arms.

“I know, baby, I’m gonna miss you too,” Louis says. “But I’ll be right here when you get back. And then we can spend the whole summer together, just you and me.”

“I wish you could come with me,” Harry sighs, wiping his tears on Louis’s shoulder. “England is never going to be the same now that I’ve met you. A country could never feel whole to me if you’re not in it with me,” he says.

“Oh, shut up, honestly,” Louis laughs, pulling away from Harry and pushing his chest gently. “You’re awful. Just write poetry and get it over with.”

He’s touched, Harry can see, but if he acts like he’s touched he’ll get emotional, and he doesn’t want to get emotional in front of Harry right now. He’s trying to be strong for Harry, and Harry really appreciates it, to be honest.

“I love you,” Harry giggles, wiping his cheeks dry with the back of his hand. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more-”

“Shut _up_ ,” Louis whines, throwing a pillow at him. “God, pack your shit already,” he teases.

Harry grins, scooping up all of the t-shirts he dropped and unloading them on Louis’s lap once Louis has reclaimed his seat on the bed, going back to the closet for some jeans and shorts while Louis folds all the shirts neatly and packs them away for him.

It takes them a bit of time and a lot of flirting, but finally Harry’s suitcase is all packed and ready to go, and both of them lug it to the front door to be packed into the car in the morning. Anne is just finishing up dinner, so they chat with her in the kitchen for a bit, and then they gather at the table for a lovely mish mash of everything that could have possibly expired if not used before they left for England.

Harry lets Louis take the first shower after dinner, and after Harry’s finished with his own shower, he finds Louis all cuddly and clean with damp hair and open arms in his bed. He pulls on his pajamas and then curls up in his arms, letting Louis stroke his hair while they chat.

“You’ll text me when you land, right?” Louis says, lips moving against Harry’s temple. “And every day? And every night before you go to sleep and every morning when you wake up?”

“Yes, Louis,” Harry hums, eyes closed. “I’ll text you every minute of every day.”

“Well, I don’t know if that’s necessary,” Louis says. “Don’t miss out on time with your friends and family for me.”

“Okay,” Harry mumbles. “I’ll Skype you whenever I can. But it might be tough, with the time difference.”

“We’ll make it work,” Louis shrugs. “Hey, Harry?”

“Yeah?” Harry hums, looking up at him.

“I love you,” Louis says, eyes switching back and forth between Harry’s quickly. “A lot.”

“I love you too,” Harry grins, nuzzling against his throat. “A lot.”

They’re technically not allowed to be sleeping in the same bed, but it’s not their fault that they both happen to fall asleep in each other’s arms. The rest of the world doesn’t exist when Harry’s all tangled up in Louis’s soft skin, and so it doesn’t exist for the rest of the night.

-

They say their goodbyes before they leave the house in the morning, so that when they pull up to Louis’s house with their trunk packed full to the brim with bags, all Harry has to do is kiss Louis once more, and they manage to part without any tears.

The drive into Boston is long and miserable, and it’s a Thursday morning, so of course there’s traffic for miles and miles. Harry’s never been into the city before, but from what he can see of it out his window on the highway, it looks quite lovely. Maybe he’ll ask Louis to take him on a date in here when he gets back.

They board the plane with minimal trouble, and Harry sleeps the entire way to England. He knows his sleep schedule is going to be fucked for a few days because of the jet lag so he figures he has nothing to lose, sleeping soundly until his mum shakes him awake, telling him they’re going to land in about ten minutes.

The drive from the airport to Harry’s grandparent’s house, where they’re staying for the entire two weeks, is terribly long and terribly boring. He texts Louis as soon as they’re on the road, though, and Louis answers immediately, so he supposes there are worse ways he could spend the drive.

Lunch is a grand occasion when they arrive at Anne’s parents’ house, even though it’s barely dinnertime in Plymouth, the timezone Harry is still accustomed to. He gives his grandparents the obligatory life update stuff, tells them all about his new school and his new friends, and then finally, he’s allowed to leave to go see Liam and Niall.

Luckily Harry’s grandparents live only a few streets away from Liam, so it’s not a terribly long walk to the field behind Liam’s house. He spots Liam and Niall kicking a ball back and forth as soon as he rounds the corner, and he takes off at a run for them.

He didn’t realize just how much he missed them, at least not in the past few months. He missed them something fierce when he was still trying and failing to adjust to Plymouth, but since he’s gotten so close to his new friends, the ache has dulled. It’s back full force now, though, when Niall spots him over Liam’s shoulder and takes off running as well to meet him halfway.

They go crashing to the ground, of course. Niall tackles Harry over into the damp grass and they both hit the ground hard, but they’re both too concerned with squeezing each other nearly to death to feel any pain. Liam joins them a moment later, somewhat more tame, pulling Harry up off the ground and into his arms.

“Fuck, we’ve missed you,” Liam says, hands knotted in the back of Harry’s shirt. “Feels like you’ve been gone forever.”

“Here’s here, Liam!” Niall shrieks, like he still can’t believe it, ripping Harry out of Liam’s hold and giving him a once over. “You don’t even look the same.”

“Lost all your baby fat, you have,” Liam nods. “They must run you around quite a bit in America, hm?”

“Is it weird to be back?” Niall butts in. “It must be. It’s weird to have you back.”

“Guys,” Harry laughs, cutting them both off mid babble. “Shut up. I missed you,” he says, grinning back and forth between both of them.

“Good,” Niall says, throwing his arm over Harry’s shoulders and then doing the same to Liam, bringing them in for a little huddle. “Because we’re never letting you go back.”

“Niall’s devised a whole plan to kidnap you before you have to leave,” Liam informs him. “It’s slightly more coherent than the one he devised last summer.”

“You can try,” Harry giggles, jabbing his fingers into Niall’s armpit to get him to release him. “But I happen to quite like Plymouth now. I just wish you guys were there with me,” he says.

“Well, kidnapping off, then,” Niall shrugs. “We’ll just sneak into your luggage and come home with you.”

Harry smiles, thinking briefly of how Louis attempted the same thing. 

“Tell us all about it, then,” Liam says, as they walk back to the middle of the field to retrieve their football. “You’ve been ever so cryptic on Skype recently. Tell us about these new friends you’ve replaced us with.”

“They’re lovely,” Harry says. “More lovely than you guys, if I’m honest.”

“Hey!” Niall pouts, batting his eyes at Harry.

“Alright, maybe just equally as lovely,” Harry concedes. “I really want you to meet them. You’d love them. Stan just joined this traveling soccer team for the summer, and he’s an absolute legend.”

“Soccer?” Niall pulls a sour face. “What are you, an American?”

“Sorta, I guess,” Harry chuckles. “There’s also Ed, who is incredibly talented. He’s recruiting me to join the choir next year, actually, can you believe? Then there’s Perrie who is, like, the best friend anyone could ask for. She always knows what to do or say and how to do it or say it to make you feel better.”

“They sound interesting,” Liam says. “Quite different, but interesting.”

“So, Perrie, hm? She cute?” Niall winks, nudging his shoulder against Harry’s.

“Shut up, Niall,” Harry says. “She’s gorgeous, actually.”

“Do you like her?” Liam asks excitedly, like that’s something that would ever happen.

“No, ew,” Harry says quickly. “She’s gay. And taken. And, well, so am I,” he shrugs, looking down so he doesn’t have to meet either of their eyes.

“Gay and taken?” Niall teases, laughing loudly. “Unexpected, mate.”

“Wait, Niall, I think he’s serious,” Liam mutters, watching Harry closely.

“Wai- what?” Niall stutters, looking up at Harry.

“Remember Louis?” Harry says, finally looking up as well. Liam and Niall nod, so Harry shrugs again. “He’s, um. He’s my boyfriend.”

There’s a tense moment of absolute silence, and then Niall laughs. Liam and Harry both jump, looking over at him.

“I knew it,” Niall says. “Well, I mean, I didn’t know it. But I knew there was something weird about the way you talked about him. Not that him being your boyfriend is weird. Just. You know what I mean,” he says.

“I’m happy for you, Hazza,” Liam says, seemingly having overcome the shock. “That’s really amazing. Do we get to meet him?”

“Yeah,” Harry grins. “He wants to Skype with us really badly. I was hoping we could maybe do that later?”

“Of course,” Niall says. “If he’s as cool as you’ve made him out to be, I can’t wait to meet him.”

“Same,” Liam nods. “Wanna keep kicking around? Think it might rain in a bit,” he says, like the fact that Harry is gay and has a boyfriend is already old news.

“Yeah,” Niall says, stealing the ball out from under Liam’s foot and kicking it as hard as he can. “C’mon, Harry, y’better not have lost your touch in soccer land!”

Harry laughs, taking off after him. He has lost his touch, it turns out, but it doesn’t take him long to get back into the swing of things, stealing the ball from Niall and promptly tripping over it and falling flat on his face. Yup, just as good as he’s always been.

-

It does start raining before long, so they end up in Liam’s basement playing video games for most of the night. Harry’s so in his element, so used to this and how this works, that he’s almost shocked when his phone lights up with a snapchat from Perrie. It feels like she and the others live in an alternate reality, like Plymouth is in an entirely different universe than the one he’s in now.

He opens the snapchat when the game ends, unable to help the way his face lights up. It’s a photo of her and Louis, both of them pouting, with the caption _we miss youuuuuu._

Harry taps to reply, snapping a picture of Liam and Niall bickering over whether or not Niall is cheating. _Wish you guys were here_ , he types.

Perrie responds instantly, and Harry opens it while Liam and Niall wrestle over the controller in Niall’s hands. _Can we meet your friends on Skype?_ the caption reads. It’s a photo of the two of them in Louis’s room, and Harry smiles at the familiar background.

 _Tell Louis to log on_ , he replies, and then closes out of the app. “Hey, guys,” he says, interrupting the battle going on at the other end of the sofa. “Wanna meet Louis and Perrie on Skype?”

“Yes!” Niall says, choking a bit until the weight of Liam’s arm. “If you can get Leemo’s fucking rage in check.”

“Be chill, Leemo,” Harry says, too busy logging into Skype. “C’mere, then.”

They both get up and sit down on either side of him on the sofa, and Harry hits call on Louis’s contact. It takes a moment to connect and then Louis answers immediately, his face close to the camera.

“Harry!” he shrieks, voice crackling out of the speakers. All three of them jump, Harry nearly dropping the phone. “I miss you!”

“I only left this morning,” Harry laughs, eyes crinkling fondly at Louis’s resulting pout. “I miss you too, love.”

“Hi, Harry!” says Perrie’s voice, but Louis won’t let her get her face in the shot. He keeps pulling the phone away, like he wants to be the only face Harry can see. “Let me say hello, Louis, you dick.”

“Hi Perrie,” Harry hums. “These are my friends, Liam and Niall,” Harry says, grinning when Niall shoves his face up close to the camera like Louis is doing.

“Are we supposed to Skype like this?” Niall says. “This seems weird, but maybe that’s how it’s done in America?”

“Oh, you’re not British,” Perrie’s voice says, as Louis laughs and finally pulls the phone back to allow Perrie in the shot as well.

“I’m Irish,” Niall says. “At least I think I am. Aren’t I?” he turns to Harry, frowning.

“Yes, Niall, you’re about as Irish as they come,” Harry says, patting Niall’s cheek comfortingly.

Niall smiles and leans into the touch, and when Harry glances back at the screen, Louis is watching them closely. Perrie just looks happy to be there, leaning into Louis’s side to get her whole face in the screen.

“Is it weird to be home, Harry?” she asks. “What time is it there?”

“Nearly nine,” Harry says. “And, yeah, it’s weird to be here. It simultaneously feels like I’ve been gone forever and like I never left. Or, like, I’m living two different lives, maybe.”

“Well, don’t get to used to it there,” Louis pipes up. “I miss you a lot. Bro,” he tacks on suddenly, looking unsure.

“I miss you too, baby. It’s alright, I told them earlier,” he grins.

Niall gags, while Liam pulls a face. “We’ve never seen him in a relationship before,” Liam tells Louis. “This is disgusting for us.”

“It’s pretty disgusting for me, as well,” Perrie says. “You should see them when they’re in the same room.”

“Oh, right,” Harry scoffs. “Like you don’t squeal and cheer every time we kiss.”

“He’s right, Pez,” Louis says. “If we disgust you, you’ve got a funny way of showing it. 

“Alright, alright,” Perrie rolls her eyes. “Fuck off.”

“I think we’re a right dream team, aren’t we, Lou?” Harry hums.

“Hey, that’s what they used to call us!” Niall says. 

“No, they didn’t. No one called us that,” Liam frowns, glancing over Harry at Niall.

“I know, but I feel like I should be jealous of something,” Niall says. 

“Shut up, Niall,” Harry chuckles. “We’re a… different kind of dream team.”

“Ew,” Niall and Liam say in unison, both of them pushing away and getting up while Harry cackles on the sofa.

“Well, go be with your friends,” Perrie says, stealing the phone away from Louis and holding it away from him, blocking him every time he tries to reach for it. “Was lovely to meet them, and to see your face. Bye, Harry!”

“Bye, loves,” Harry laughs, his heart clenching at the way Louis screeches in protest while Perrie ends the call. It’s probably good, anyway, because Harry knows he would have spent the rest of the night just chatting to Louis instead of actually spending this precious time with his childhood best friends.

He gets a text from Louis not long after they’re done with the Skype call, and to Niall and Liam’s outrage, drops his controller if favor of opening it.

_Louis: skype me again when ur in bed_

_Louis: that sounded dirty but i just miss u a lot and wanna look at ur face_

_Harry: I’ll probably be heading back to my grandparents’ soon. Miss you xxxxx_

Louis responds again after that but Harry isn’t allowed to answer it, because Niall takes his phone and sits on it until they finish their game. Harry wins, because he’s a little shit, and then he takes his phone back and smiles at the long string of crying and heart emojis from Louis.

“I should probably get back to my grandparents’ house,” Harry says. “I’ll have missed dinner, probably, and they’ll want me there for whatever dull shenanigans are going on tonight. I’ll see you guys tomorrow, probably?”

“You better see us tomorrow,” Liam says. “We’ll text you in the morning, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry hums, giving them both one last hug. “I really did miss you guys,” he says, accepting their friendly teasing and jostling in return before heading out and walking back to his grandparents’ house.

He washes up and changes for bed, because even though it’s far too early to sleep, he knows he’s not going to be any more tired in a couple hours than he is now. He digs the melatonin he brought out of his suitcase and pops a couple pills, and then gets tucked up in bed in the spare bedroom and calls Louis.

“Good timing,” Louis answers, kicking his bedroom door shut behind him. “Perrie just left, and we just had dinner. Now I’m all free all night to talk to my baby,” he hums, plopping down on his own bed.

“Yay,” Harry grins. “I just took some melatonin to help me sleep and get rid of the jet lag, so I don’t know how long I’ll be coherent,” he says.

“That’s okay,” Louis shrugs. “I won’t hang up if you fall asleep on me.”

“That’s creepy,” Harry says. “And quite gross, even for you.”

“I know,” Louis shrugs. “But you love it.”

“I love _you_ ,” Harry corrects him. 

They talk for nearly an hour until the sleeping pills kick in and Harry can hardly keep his eyes open. Louis’s telling a story of some sort, something that Perrie did or said that was funny, but Harry drops right off in the middle of it. His phone is still propped up on the pillow next to him, his face still completely in shot, and when Louis notices that he’s fast asleep he stops talking, but he doesn’t hang up.

Harry wakes up in the morning to find the call still going, but it’s dark and silent on Louis’s end. If Harry turns his brightness up he can see Louis sleeping in his bed, his back turned toward the camera. Harry grins and watches the rise and fall of his back for a couple minutes, before he turns over to check the time on the clock on the bedside table.

It’s nearly 11am, which means it’s not even 7 in Plymouth. Harry watches Louis for much longer than he’d like to admit, though he knows Louis probably did the same to him last night, until someone in Louis’s house shouts and Louis startles awake.

Harry watches him sit up, rubbing at his eyes and listening for a second, probably just making sure there isn’t an emergency. He doesn’t acknowledge the phone, even when he turns over and closes his eyes again. He’s facing the camera now, his sweet face all squished up against his pillow. He seems like he’s going to drift off again, maybe, but Harry just can’t wait to talk to him.

“Good morning, love,” he says quietly, voice rough with sleep. Louis startles so hard he nearly falls out of bed, looking up at where his phone is propped up on his bedside table.

“Jesus, Harry,” Louis mutters. “Watching me sleep, hm? Bit creepy,” he teases.

“Oh, like you didn’t do the same thing when I fell asleep last night,” Harry rolls his eyes.

“You got me there,” Louis chuckles, nuzzling his cheek against the bed. Harry aches to be there with him, to be the thing he’s nuzzling against. 

“I’m gonna go have some breakfast,” he says. “You should go back to sleep, love, it’s early.”

“Mm, okay,” Louis mutters. “Text you when I wake up,” he says.

“I’ll be waiting eagerly,” Harry smiles. “Sweet dreams, baby.”

Louis already seems to be half asleep again so Harry watches for just another moment before he hangs up, leaving his phone on the bed while he shuffles to the kitchen for some breakfast.

He spends the rest of the day exploring the village with Liam and Niall, sending Louis pictures and videos on snapchat of all the places he used to frequent. He does miss Louis dearly, but he’s so happy to be home, it almost feels like two weeks will never pass and will also never be long enough all at the same time.

-

Harry doesn’t bother unpacking his whole suitcase when he gets home, because he’s leaving again tomorrow to go to Nantucket with Louis, Stan and Ed to stay at Perrie’s summer house for a couple of days to celebrate the Fourth of July. It’s the 2nd, when he gets home, and apparently the 3rd is when the festivities will really begin.

He’s quite excited to see the fireworks and eat the hotdogs and spend the nights at the beach and the mornings in the little seaside town centers. He’s more excited to see Louis, though, if he’s honest.

He leaves his suitcase by the door and takes the things he needs to his room, plopping down on the bed to text Louis and tell him he’s home. There’s a knock on the door just as he’s pulling out his phone, but he hears his mum answer it from down the hall.

He only has the text half typed when Louis himself comes barreling into Harry’s room, tackling him over on the bed and squeezing him tight.

“Louis!” Harry shrieks, hugging him back instantly and trying haphazardly to sit them upright. “How did you know I was home?”

“I’ve been circling the neighborhood for two hours,” Louis shrugs. “Couldn’t wait. I saw your car was here on this time around and I couldn’t wait another second,” he admits.

“Fuck, I missed you so much,” Harry breathes, holding him tight to his chest.

“I missed you, too,” Louis murmurs. “I hope you had a terrible time at home, because I’m never letting you leave again.”

“I didn’t have a terrible time, thanks, love,” Harry laughs. “But next I go home, you’re coming with me.”

Louis grins, pulling back just enough to slam his lips against Harry’s. They spend the rest of the day riding their bikes around Ellisville, getting frozen yogurt, and then going to the state forest to put their toes in the lake. They’ll leave for the ferry early tomorrow morning, but they stay out late anyway, watching some of the early fireworks over the trees.

Yeah, Plymouth definitely isn’t England, but there’s something here that’s beginning to make it feel like home, anyway. Laying on a beach that’s more rocks than sand with cool lake water lapping at his toes, he thinks he knows exactly what it is that makes Plymouth feel like home. It’s this boy right here in his arms, the one that’s lazing with his head on Harry’s chest, using him as a full body pillow. It’s this boy that scooped Harry up and saved him, the one that continues to save him every day, the one that will undoubtedly keep saving him every day for the rest of his life. Harry loves this boy, the one that makes this feel like home. He’s beginning to love this home, as well.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
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